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GOING-ON-NINE 






































































































































































































. 




























































































. 

































































































LDtHROP • LEE AND SHEPARD COWANY 
BOStOll MEW YORK 


*- v. Q, y - 1 . 1 ”* 




























Copyright, 1939 

By Lothrop, Lee 8c Shepard Company 




Lithographed in the United States of America 
By Reehl Lithographing Co., Inc. 


C'CiA 


132628 


OCT X 


0 1939 





TABLE OF CONTENTS 


Page 

I. GOING-ON-EIGHT.7 

II. THE BIRTHDAY.17 

III. CLIMBING THE MATTERHORN.29 

IV. WHERE IS QUEEN BESS?.41 

V. SOMETHING SPECIAL TO PLANT.51 

VI. EMMA.58 

VII. PEA POD VOYAGES.68 

VIII. CHERRIES ARE RIPE.76 

IX. CROQUET RACES.84 

X. TURTLES.92 

XI. LOST-ON-THE-BURNING-PRAIRIE.101 

XII. TANKS AND THANKSGIVING.108 

XIII. WONDERFUL TREE.116 

XIV. GOING-ON-NINE.126 















TO 

ALL THE LITTLE GIRLS 
WHO PLAYED AT 


LOCUST LAWN 









CHAPTER I 


GOING-ON-EIGHT 

Once, long ago, there was a big house on the slope of a hill, called 
Locust Lawn. Around it were fields and great trees, and in it lived 
a little girl, named Abby. She was a very happy little girl, because 
Locust Lawn was a beautiful place to play in, and the days were 
not half long enough for all the jolly things that she liked to do. 

She was so happy that when she had a wish-bone it was hard to 
think of anything new that she wanted, and she always made the 
same wish over again. She wished that she did not have to be quite 
so afraid of things. Other people did not seem to be afraid of them, 
but she was —of a thunder storm, or of speaking a piece before 
people, or of meeting Michael Flanagan, with the fierce dark eye¬ 
brows, who lived up the road and scowled when he went by in his 
tip-cart. And sometimes she was even afraid of having to go up alone 
into the big attic, because the tank-room was there—a dim, mysterious 
place filled with pipes and tanks and great gurgling tin balls. 

But there was one thing that Abby was more afraid of than of 
anything else. She was afraid of growing up. She knew a good deal 
about grown-ups, for there were ever so many of them at Locust 
Lawn. There were Papa and Mamma and Auntie and two big sisters 
and one big brother, and Old Ann and Rosa in the kitchen, and Caleb 
Hanson at the barn. And once in a while there was Brother Henry, 
who had gone away to Texas to live on a ranch. Brother Henry said 

7 


that it was fun on the ranch, but Abby did not understand how any¬ 
body could bear to go away from Locust Lawn for anything. Besides, 
she was sure that grown-ups did not really know what fun was—not 

real fun like hers. 

“I shall never, never stop climbing trees and fishing for turtles in 
the Willow Pond,” said Abby, “no matter how grown up I have 

to be!” 

“But what will you do with your flounces and your bustle and 
your water-waves?” said handsome Brother Charlie, who liked to 

tease. 

Then Abby looked very sober, for she knew that if you were 
grown-up, and a lady, you always had to wear a long flounced skirt, 
with a bustle to make it stick out properly behind, and if you were 
very elegant, you had to do your hair, like Mamma s, in fine curved 
water-waves across your forehead. Abby still wore a nice short dress 
that was just right for climbing trees, but sometimes, when she lay 
in bed in the great square room where she slept with Auntie, she 
counted the years until she should be ten, or twelve, or even-oh 
merC y!_fifteen. How old did one have to be, she wondered, with a 
little shiver, before bustles and flounces and water-waves overtook one. 

Abby did not tell any one how afraid she was of things, because 
one of her worst Afraids was that Grown-ups would find out what a 
scary little girl she really was. Auntie was the only one who guessed it. 
Abby knew this because often, when she had tried very hard to be 
brave, she found one of Auntie’s green lozenges at bed-time in her 
mug with her tooth-brush. Auntie said that when you stopped being 

8 


afraid of things you began to grow up—so sometimes Abby was almost 
afraid of trying to be brave. 

Every month in the year there was a good reason for not growing 
up, and the first reason came when she had her birthday on the twenty- 
fifth of January. Grown-ups sometimes had birthdays too, but calls 
and afternoon teas such as they had, they weren’t any fun. Abby’s 
was a real birthday, with presents and candles on a pink cake, and 
every one playing blindman’s buff with her after supper in the Big 
Parlor. And on the birthday when she was eight, something even more 
special happened. It began the day before, when Caleb Hanson came 
into the kitchen to get the morning orders from Old Ann. 

“Who wants to drive to the village?” said Caleb, his merry old 
eyes twinkling under his snowy cap. 

“I do!” cried Abby, running to get her things. She and Caleb 
were great friends, and sometimes when they went to the village to¬ 
gether they came home with barley sticks in a red and white striped 
bag. 

She put on her coat and her rubber boots, and Auntie tied her 
blue worsted hood under her chin. Then she ran down the great stone 
steps in front of the house to the avenue, where Caleb was sitting in 
the pung. The pung was a sort of open truck on runners, with a high 
seat just behind the horse. Abby climbed up on the seat beside Caleb. 
Then he flicked Major, the horse, with the reins, and away they went 
down the avenue, and out into the sparkling road, bells jingling, 
clean, frosty air stinging their faces. It was like flying, thought Abby, 
to ride behind Major on the pung seat. 

9 














Major was the biggest horse at Locust Lawn, and nobody ever 
drove him except Caleb and Papa. But to-day, because it was almost 
her birthday, Caleb let her hold the ends of the reins and say “Gittup” 
and “Whoa/’ just as if she were the driver herself. 

“It’s a big girl you are now,” said Caleb, looking down at her 
from under his thick cap, “Going on eight!” 

“But not growing up,” said Abby quickly. 

“Oh no,” said Caleb, who always understood things. 

So Abby held the reins, and before long she had driven Major 
proudly into the village street, and up to the hitching post in front of 
the general store. Caleb tied Major to the post and went in to get the 
mail and the groceries. But Abby sat very straight on the highseat of 
the pung and held the reins, just as if she had driven Major into 
town by herself. 

After a while Caleb came out again with the groceries, and the 
first thing that Abby saw was a letter in a big blue envelope on top of 
the market basket. 

“It’s from Brother Henry,” she cried* “Oh goody!” Brother Henry 
almost always drew funny pictures for Abby in his letters to the family, 
and sometimes there was even one on the outside of the envelope. 

She could hardly wait while Caleb put the things in the back of 
the pung and untied Major. As soon as he had climbed up on the seat 
beside her he handed her the letter. 

“IPs for me, all myself!” she cried, in happy surprise, for written 
on the blue envelope were the words: 


MISS ABIGAIL WINGATE 
LOCUST LAWN 
CRANDALL 

MASSACHUSETTS 


She pulled off her mittens and tore open the envelope. Then, as 
she and Caleb jingled along behind Major out of the village, she read 
her letter, and this is what it said: 


Dear Abby, 

I hope that you will have a fine birthday and get 99 pres¬ 
ents. This is just to say that your 100th present is out here at 
the ranch. I am sorry that I cant send it to you just yet. Any 
one has to be very big and brave to receive this present —yes 
sirree very brave indeed. Let’s see, you’re going to be ten this 
year, aren’t you? (“He knows Lm only eight! exclaimed Abby 
aloud. Then she went on with the letter) Well, by the time 
you are eleven, and have got tired of playing with the other 
99 presents, perhaps Number 100 will be ready. You won’t 
mind waiting, I am sure, because the longer it stays at the 
ranch, the finer the present will be. Just to show you how fine 
it is, I will draw a picture of part of it. I can’t write any more, 
because the picture will take up all the rest of the paper. 

P.S. When l write again l 
will draw some more of it. 


affectionate 

Brother Henry 


12 



“Oh, Caleb,” said Abby, holding out the letter, “look! What is 
my present?” 

Caleb looked gravely down at the drawing. Then he chuckled 
and shook his head. 

“Looks to me like nothing but the tail of a beaver,” said Caleb. 

Then he flicked the reins, and Major, who knew that he was on 
the way home to his lunch of oats, raced along in the flying snow, his 
great red-brown flanks gleaming in the sunshine. But Abby did not 
notice how fast they flew, or even see the bag of barley sticks on the 
floor of the pung, for she was thinking about Brother Henry’s present. 
She turned the picture upside down, and looked at it this way and that 
way, but she could not think of anything that it could possibly be. 
And when at last Major’s jingling bells stopped in front of the big 
stone steps, and Abby ran into the house, not even the grown-ups at 
Locust Lawn could guess what Brother Henry had drawn. 

“Perhaps it is supposed to be an umbrella,” said Mamma. 

An umbrella of one’s own tuould be fun. 

“But I should not have to be big for that," said Abby. And she 
ran to find Auntie. 

“Perhaps it is the finger of some fine new gloves,” said Auntie. 

Real gloves instead of mittens would be very nice. 

“But I should not have to be brave for those," said Abby. And she 
ran to find Brother Charlie. 

“Perhaps it is the blade of a big sharp knife that they scalp each 
other with in Texas,” said Brother Charlie. 

Abby shivered. 




“Rut a knife would not grow any finer by staying at the ranch,” 
she said. And she ran to the kitchen to find Old Ann. 

“Sure, you’d best put the letter under your pillow,” said Old Ann 
in her growly voice, “then you’ll be after dreaming about it.” 

So when she went to bed that night, Abby took the envelope up¬ 
stairs and put it under her pillow—but she did not go to sleep for a 
long time. She was thinking about her birthday, and of how as soon 
as she opened her eyes in the morning she would be different, because 
she would be eight. Perhaps it might be nice to be eight, but it would 
not be the same, and Abby was always a little frightened when things 
came to an end. She lay very still in the middle of the great wooden 
bed, and was glad that it was Auntie who had tucked her in to-night, 
for Auntie always just turned the gas-light down low. Mamma and 
Sister Sazie and Sister Florence said that little girls should learn to go 
to sleep in the dark, and they usually put the light out entirely. And 
when the sound of people’s footsteps had died away, down the long 
hall and the distant stairs, Auntie’s bed in the dark seemed very far 
from anybody. 

Another reason why Abby liked to have the light left on was that 
then she could see the picture that hung on the wall by the gas globe. 
Auntie said that it was a coat-of-arms, and that it stood for the Win¬ 
gates. Abby was not quite sure what that meant, l}ut she loved the 
picture. It had pretty silver scrolls and curly-queues around the edges, 
and a crown on top, and in the middle was a lion, standing on his hind 
legs and roaring. But what she loved best was the little white lamb, 

H 















































who was walking straight toward the lion, holding a flag with one of 
his front legs. There were words printed on the flag which Abby sup¬ 
posed must be the lamb’s name. He was a very cheerful, smiling little 
lamb, and the great shadowy room did not seem half so lonesome 
while one could look at little Victus, prancing along so unafraid 
toward the rearing lion. Often in the day-time, when she was scared 
of something, Abby remembered Little Victus. Now, when she had 
to stop being seven, she looked up at him, and was glad that he stood 
for her, and that he would surely be there just the same when she 
was eight. 

“Goodnight, Little Victus,” she whispered. 

Then, feeling safe and comfortable, she snuggled down under the 
blankets and closed her eyes. And the next minute she was sound 
asleep—so sound that, although Brother Henry’s letter was under her 
pillow, she did not have a single dream about it. And the first thing 
she knew, it was morning, and she was eight! 


16 


CHAPTER II 


THE BIRTHDAY 

“Happy birthday!” said Auntie, standing by the bed and smiling 
down at Abby. “Let’s see what a big girl we have this morning!” 

“I don’t feel any bigger,” said Abby, rubbing her eyes and peer¬ 
ing down over the spread, to make sure that her toes stuck up in the 
usual place. 

She was relieved to see that they did. Then she slipped over the 
edge of the bed, and found that it was still just as far to the floor. But 
when she touched the carpet she felt something different under her 
feet. There, side by side, were two new little woolly bed-shoes. They 
had kid soles and blue pompons on the toes, and they were exactly 
the right size for somebody eight. 

“I know! They’re from you!” said Abby, smiling first at Auntie 
and then at the pompons. “And they are just what I wanted.” 

She put on the bed-shoes and ran over to the window. 

“O look! she cried. “It’s like fairyland.” 

For there had been fresh snow in the night, and the great lawn 
sloped away in smooth beauty to the dark woods far below. Every twig 
on a hundred trees was sparkling, and the whole world seemed 
dressed for a party. 

“Come,” said Auntie, “they are waiting for the Birthday Girl 
downstairs. We must hurry.” 

So Abby turned from the window, and put on her clothes as fast 

*7 


as she could. She buttoned her shoes with the button-hook, and 
Auntie buttoned her wool dress. Then she ran through the long hall 
and down the stairs. But when she came to the bottom step she stood 
still, for she could hear the grown-ups talking and laughing in the 
Middle Parlor. Birthdays always made one feel a little queer at first. 

“Aren’t you coming?” said Auntie, looking back. 

“Oh, yes,” said Abby, and she ran quickly toward the door of the 
Middle Parlor. 

In a moment she was in the midst of it, with everybody saying 
“Happy birthday!” Then she was walking gaily into the dining-room 
between Papa and Mamma. 

At Abby’s place on the big table there were more presents—a real 
little clock that ticked, and books, and small handkerchiefs marked 
with A . There was also a big wax doll from Cousin Julia in New York. 
It was dressed like a grown-up lady, with silk flounces and a bustle, 
and real hair done up on top of its head. Abby had never seen so fine 
a doll, and her eyes shone. But the best present of all was a very small 
box, with these words on the top: 

WEAR ME 

I OPEN SOMETHING 
VERY NICE 

Inside the box was a tiny key, no longer than Abby’s thumb nail, 
strung on a blue ribbon. 

“What does it open?” cried Abby, “Where is it?” 

18 


“See if you can guess!” said Papa. 

“Oh dear,” said Abby, thinking again of Brother Henry’s letter. 
“There seems to be a great deal of guessing about birthdays.” 

All the grown-ups around the big table laughed, and for a mo¬ 
ment Abby looked very sober. But Mamma leaned over and hung the 
ribbon with the little key about her neck. 

“You will surely find it to-day,” said Mamma, smiling mysteri¬ 
ously, “and when you do, you will feel rich and happy.” 

Then Abby smiled too, and they all ate breakfast. 

As soon as it was over Abby ran into the Big Parlor, to see if her 
key would fit in the rosewood box that stood on the mantel-piece. She 
knew that there was a gold cup and saucer inside the box, but per¬ 
haps to-day there might be something else, too. She brought the 
hassock from the big arm chair to stand on. But when she tried her 
key it was ever so much too small. 

So she ran into Papa’s library behind the Big Parlor, and tried it 
again in the blue case on the table, where he kept his best cigars. 
Papa said that the case was just the color of Abby’s eyes, and he some¬ 
times hid things for her in it. But the key-hole in the blue case was 
not the right shape at all. 

Then she thought of the spice-box, and ran to the kitchen. Per¬ 
haps something Very Nice was hidden with the Spice. But Old Ann 
was more growly than usual this morning, and would not let anybody 
even look in the pantry. 

“Run along with you,” said Old Ann, shooing Abby out of the 

*9 


kitchen with her big floury hands. ‘‘I’m too busy to-day for the likes 
of you! ’ ’ 

Abby laughed at Old Ann, for she was sure that there was a birth¬ 
day cake being made. Then all at once she remembered the jewel- 
box on Sister Florence’s dressing-table. She would ask if she might 
try her key in the jewel-box. But when she ran into the hall, there was 
Mamma, with her arms held wide in front of the great curving stair¬ 
way. 

“Little girls must not go upstairs this morning for anything” 
said Mamma. 

“Can’t I even peek?” said Abby. She could not see around the 
curve, but she could hear footsteps overhead, going back and forth, 
back and forth, from one room to another, in a funny sort of way, and 
the voices of Sister Sazie and Sister Florence and Auntie talking low 
and mysteriously. 

“No,” said Mamma firmly, but there was the same smile about 
the corners of her mouth that had been there at breakfast time, so 
that Abby was sure something nice must be going on upstairs. “Be¬ 
sides,” said Mamma, “you must go down the avenue, to see if Jane 
and Johnnie and Little Peg will come to your party at three o’clock.” 

“Oh yes!” said Abby, forgetting about upstairs. 

She put on her coat and her hood and her rubber boots. Then she 
went down the front steps and along the avenue under the snowy 
trees. It was fun running and sliding in the bright cold air, and where 
the sunshine fell upon the avenue it was like sliding on diamonds. 


20 


After a few minutes she came to the tall stone posts at the end of the 
avenue. Across the road was the yellow cottage where Caleb Hanson 
lived, and where Jane and Johnnie were making a visit. Jane and 
Johnnie were Caleb’s grandchildren. 

Abby went around to the kitchen door and knocked softly. She 
was a little afraid of Mrs. Hanson, who was very large and solemn, and 
always opened the door suddenly. It came open to-day with a sort of 
jump, and there stood Mrs. Hanson filling up the whole doorway. 

"Can Jane and Johnnie come to my birthday party at three 
o’clock?” asked Abby in a scared voice. 

Mrs. Hanson looked solemnly down at the blue hood. Then she 
nodded her head. 

"They’ll be there,” she said. 

And she pinched Abby’s cheek with her plump finger and thumb. 
Abby could not see Jane and Johnnie, because Mrs. Hanson took up 
so much room in the doorway, but she could tell from the shouts in 
the kitchen behind that they would surely come to the party. 

When Mrs. Hanson had closed the door again, Abby ran up the 
snowy road to Little Peg’s house. There was really no need to invite 
Little Peg, for she came over every afternoon to play at Locust Lawn 
anyway, but Abby wanted to be sure that little Peg wore her best 
dress and sash. It would not be a party without a sash. 

Little Peg herself came to the door of the small brown house 
where she lived, and when she heard that there was to be a party she 
jumped up and down. "Oh goody!” said Little Peg. She wanted to 


21 


start that very minute, but Abby told her that she could not come 
until three o’clock, and ran away again down the road before Little 
Peg could get her hat and coat. 

It was Saturday, so that there were no morning lessons with 
Auntie. Instead Abby helped Sister Florence to water the plants in the 
Middle Parlor. Then she helped Sister Sazie to wash and dry Too-Too. 
Too-Too was Sister Sazie’s little dog, and it was fun giving him a bath 
because he always ran away with the towel. This time he ran under 
the sofa in the Big Parlor, and had to be pried out with the poker. 
After he had been caught and combed and shut up in the laundry to 
dry, Abby took Cousin Julia’s doll for a walk—and then it was lunch 
time. 

It seemed to Abby that three o’clock would never come, but at 
last it was time to go up with Auntie to dress for the party. They went 
up the back stairs, and at the top Auntie tied a handkerchief over 
Abby’s eyes, just as if they were playing blindman’s buff. 

‘‘What is it that I can’t look at?” said Abby, groping her way into 
Auntie’s room, “Is it even in the back hall?” 

“It’s everywhere,” laughed Auntie, closing the door of the bed¬ 
room, “except in here.” 

Very much excited, Abby put on her best white dress and her new 
kid shoes. Then Auntie tied her blue sash with a fine bow behind, and 
slipped the little key around her neck again. Abby was sure now that 
the key must have something to do with the party. When she was all 
ready she was blindfolded again, and they went down the back stairs. 


22 



\ 


Abby watched for her guests from the window in the front door. 
Soon she saw them through the trees of the avenue, scuffling up the 
steep slope in the snow—Jane and Johnnie and Little Peg. In a minute 
she and Auntie were helping to take off coats and rubber-boots in the 
vestibule, and Abby saw that everybody looked very nice. Little Peg 

23 










had on a white dress like Abby’s, only her sash was pink, and there 
were pink ribbons at the ends of her two dark little pig-tails. Jane’s 
dress was just an every-day one, but she had a red sash, so that was all 
right. And Johnnie, who was very small, wore kilts. 

Little Peg knew all about Locust Lawn, but Jane and Johnnie had 
never before been in such a big house. Their eyes were very round 
as they followed Abby into the wide hall and looked up the high curv¬ 
ing stairs. In a moment Sister Sazie came around the curve, running 
down in her ruffly blue dress, very pretty and smiling. Abby thought 
that if she ever had to be a grown-up, she would like to look just like 
that. 

“If we are all ready,” said Sister Sazie, “we will let Abby and Little 
Peg lead the way.” Then she took fane and Johnnie by the hand, and 
they all trooped up the stairs. 

“Can I look now?” said Abby, when they were almost at the top. 

“Yes,” laughed Sister Sazie. 

Abby ran up the rest of the steps and looked. 

“Oh!” she cried. 

“Oh, oh, oh!” cried Jane and Johnnie and Little Peg. 

For wherever they looked, high or low, down the halls or through 
the doors of the bed-rooms, there was a net-work of gay strings, run¬ 
ning through the air in all directions. 

“This is a spider-web party,” said Sister Sazie. “You must see if 
you can untangle the web. If you can, you will find that the Birthday 
Spider has hidden a treasure at the end of every string.” 

Sister Sazie gave the blue string to Abby, and the other colors to 

24 


Jane and Johnnie and Little Peg. Then they all began to run back and 
forth through the rooms and up and down the halls, untangling the 
web. Sometimes the strings were twisted around the bureau handles, 
and sometimes they ran over the tops of the pictures, and once the 
string of roly-poly Jane led her right under a big bed, so that she stuck 
fast in the middle, and had to be pulled out. It was very merry and 
exciting, and they bumped and tumbled over one another, in their 
hurry to get to the end of their strings. After a while Jane’s and John¬ 
nie’s and Little Peg’s led them off down the hall to the play-room, but 
Abby’s took her straight to the door at the bottom of the attic stairs. 

“Oh dear!” she said, peering into the dim light of the stairway. 
For up went her blue string, leading her, all by herself, into the attic. 
Far away in the playroom she could hear the laughing voices of the 
others. Perhaps they had already found their treasures. 

Holding tight to her string, Abby crept up into the attic hall. 
Around it were closed doors, which led to all the creepy places on the 
third floor. It was very still, except for the gurgles in the tank-room, 
and for a moment Abby wished that she had not come. Then she saw 
that the string went quite across the attic and under the farthest door, 
and she ran on. Behind that door were the stairs which led to the little 
tower on the roof, called the cupola. Abby loved the cupola because 
it had windows all around it, and when you stood in the middle and 
looked out, it was like standing on the tip-top of the world. But she 
had never been up into it alone, and she felt a little scary, as she turned 
the handle and opened the door. 

As soon as she opened it, the warm cheerful light from the stair- 

25 


way came flooding down into the dim attic, for even in winter the 
cupola was bright with sunshine. Following her string, Abby crept up 
the stairs, sniffing the sweet, musty smell that was always there. She 
knew that this smell came from the old cedar chest in a corner of the 
cupola, where there was a bag of dried rose leaves and some linen done 
up in lavender. There was something else too—strange and delicious- 
hidden in the old chest. Suppose her string ended there! 

“Oh dear,” said Abby again, when she came to the top. For the 
string really did go across the cupola, and under the lid of the old 
chest—into the place where Mamma and Papa’s wedding cake lay in a 
white box. Abby had seen the box one day when she and Auntie had 
been up in the cupola to get something out of the chest. 

“It has been here for almost twenty-five years,” Auntie had said. 
“When you are eight years old, and Mamma and Papa have their sil¬ 
ver wedding, we shall open it and cut it.” 

And to-day she was eight! And before long there would be the 
silver wedding! A cake twenty-five years old—that had been lying in 
that dark old chest before there was any Abby at all, or any Sister Sazie, 
or even any Brother Henry. And now she and this strange cake were 
up here quite alone together in the cupola. 

Holding her breath, she tip-toed across to the chest and lifted the 
lid ever so little. Peeking through the crack, she could make out the 
shape of the white box beyond the dried rose leaves. As soon as she 
saw that her string ran into the other corner of the chest, she opened 
the lid wide. Then from under the linen, she pulled out a small round 

26 


thing, done up in tissue paper. It felt very hard, and when she had 
taken off the paper, she found that it was a walnut—not an every-day 
walnut, but one with little hinges and a lock and keyhole, like a box. 
Abby stared. 

“Oh, / know,” she said aloud, for just then she remembered the 
little key on the ribbon around her neck. 

Quickly she tried it in the lock, and this time it fitted perfectly. 
Then she opened the walnut, and there inside lay a small gold ring, 
set with a turquoise. Abby slipped it on her finger, and held it out 
where it gleamed in the sunshine of the cupola. Then she felt very 
rich and happy, just as Mamma had said, for it was the prettiest ring 
that she had ever seen. 

Far away down the stairs she could hear the sound of merry voices 
calling her name. 

“Abby—oh—Abby—we’re going to have the cake now!’’ 

Abby turned and looked once more, a little shyly, at the white 
box in the chest. Around it was a tarnished ribbon, and on the top, 
in silver letters, the words: 

PHILIP AND LUCETTA WINGATE 

JUNE 6, 1859 

Abby leaned down and touched the silver ribbon lightly with the 
tips of her fingers. Then, a little frightened at the touch, she dropped 
the lid of the old chest, and ran as fast as she could down the cupola 

stairs. 

27 


In the middle of the dim attic were Jane and Johnnie and Little 
Peg, coming to find her with Brother Charlie. 

“See what the Birthday Spider left at the end of my string!” cried 
Jane and Johnnie and Little Peg all together, holding out their treas¬ 
ures. Little Peg had a blue hood, and Jane had a red hood and John¬ 
nie had a pair of mittens. 

And see what he left at the end of mine!” cried Abby, holding up 
her turquoise ring. “Look, it just fits!” 

“But what will you do if your finger grows up?” laughed Brother 
Charlie, who liked to tease. 

“I shall never take off my ring,” said Abby, soberly, “so it can’t.” 

“Let’s go down and see the cake,” said Little Peg, who knew all 
about birthdays at Locust Lawn. 

“Yes,” said Abby—but she walked a little slowly toward the stairs. 

Poor, beautiful birthday cake, that would be eaten up in one 
minute! It was nice to be a wedding cake, safe in the cupola for twenty- 
five years—but birthday ones were better, and hers was waiting for her 
downstairs, frosted pink, with candles, and perhaps her name in pep¬ 
permints. And if they did eat it up in a minute, why there would be 
another one just as beautiful next year when she was nine. Nine! — 
Oh, but she was going to be eight for a long time. 

“Come!” called Little Peg impatiently from the foot of the attic 
stairs. 

“Yes,” said Abby, “I’m coming.” 

And she ran down to find her own beautiful cake. 

28 


CHAPTER III 


CLIMBING THE MATTERHORN 

By February all the hills and slopes at Locust Lawn were white 
with snow, and Abby and Little Peg went coasting. One day Mamma 
said, “This afternoon Auntie and Sister Florence and Sister Sazie and 
I are going to the village hall, to hear a talk about great mountains. 
There will be fine pictures. Would you like to come, too?” 

“I don’t have to, do I?” said Abby, looking sober and anxious. 

“Why, no,” laughed Mamma, “not if you don’t want to. Would 
you rather stay at home with Brother Charlie?” 

“Oh yes,” said Abby. How could grown-ups sit in a hall, she 
thought to herself, and talk about mountains, when it was February, 
and there was coasting at Locust Lawn? 

After lunch Caleb brought the big open sleigh to the front steps. 
It was harnessed to Judge, the horse that the ladies drove, and Mamma 
and Auntie and Sister Florence and Sister Sazie all got in, and tucked 
the warm buffalo rugs around them. Then Sister Sazie took the reins, 
and away they went, jingling merrily down the snowy avenue under 
the pines. 

Abby, in the window of the Big Parlor, waved her hand, until the 
sleigh jingled out of sight around the curve. Then she suddenly heard 
more bells, and down the avenue from the barn came another sleigh, 
the snow flying from under Major’s big hoofs. Caleb was driving, and 
behind him sat Old Ann and Rosa. Abby knew that they were going 
to a bazaar. 


29 


When Major’s bells had also jingled away, Abby walked through 
the Big Parlor into the hall. She had never before been quite so alone 
in the great house, and it seemed very still and empty. Where was 
Brother Charlie? As fast as she could she scampered up the two long 
flights to the third story. Brother Charlie’s room was just at the top of 
the attic stairs, and sometimes on winter afternoons he worked there 
on his Invention. Abby rapped at the door. 

‘May I come in?” she called, rather scared, for she could hear 
gurgles in the tank-room. 

“Sure pop,” replied Brother Charlie’s cheerful voice. 

Quickly Abby opened the door and went in. The big square room 
was bright with winter sunshine, and Brother Charlie grinned at her 
over the wheels of the Invention. 

“Hello,” he said, “so we’re keeping house together this afternoon, 
are we? I’m glad you came up, for I thought I heard a queer noise out 
in the hall!” 

Abby shivered, although she knew that Brother Charlie was only 
teasing. 

“I’m going coasting with Little Peg,” she said. “May I please take 
the Alpen stock?” 

The Alpen stock was a stout nubbly stick with an iron spike at 
the end, that had come from Switzerland. Brother Charlie had been 
to the very top of the Matterhorn with it, and sometimes, when the 
snow was crusty on the high slopes of Locust Lawn, Abby and Little 
Peg played that they were climbing the Matterhorn too. 

30 


Be sure you bring it back,” said Brother Charlie, when he had 
fetched the Alpen stock from the closet. “And mind you coast on the 
little slope, where I can see you, not on the big slope.” The “little 
slope was what they called the hill at the side of the house. The “big 
slope” was the great lawn that dropped away in front, a half a mile to 
the dark woods far below. 

“Oh yes,” replied Abby. But she did not really hear what Brother 
Charlie said, for just at that moment, through the window, she saw 
Little Peg coming along the road at the foot of the hill, dragging her 
red sled behind her. 

Holding her breath, Abby ran down through the echoing house 
with the Alpen stock. When she came around the curve of the stairs, 
she stopped for a moment with her heart in her mouth, for she was 
almost sure that she saw something moving behind the folding doors 
of the Middle Parlor. It was really only her own reflection in the great 
mirror over the fire-place, but Abby did not wait to look. She scuttled 
around the newel post into the hall closet, and put on her coat and her 
hood and her rubber boots as fast as she could. A moment later she 
closed the big front door behind her, and was out in the midst of the 
bright winter world. Her Christmas sled, painted blue with a white 
polar bear, was waiting for her at the foot of the stone steps, and Little 
Peg was just coming around the curve of the avenue. 

“Oh goody!” cried Little Peg, as soon as she saw the Alpen stock, 
for she loved to play climbing the Matterhorn. “What shall we have 
for the mountain to-day? 


3 1 


Abby looked down over the lawn. Then she walked across the 
avenue to the edge of the slope and felt of the crust. It was very hard 
and it stretched, sparkling and unbroken, away to the dark woods. 

“Let’s slide down as far as we can," she said, for she had not really 
heard Brother Charlie’s words about the big slope. “It will be a splen¬ 
did Matterhorn climbing back!’’ 



So Abby and Little Peg took their sleds to the brink of the lawn, 
and lay down on them on their stomachs. Their rubber boots stuck 
out behind and the Alpen stock in front. They counted one-two- 
three; then each gave a push with a rubber boot, and away they went 
down over the crust, slipping and sliding. They whizzed by the big 
clump of locusts and under the elms, and the crust was so hard that 
the runners of the sleds did not make any marks at all on the snow. 

32 


After a while they came whizzing down to the row of small hillocks 
that ran across the lower part of the lawn. But the first slope had been 
so steep that their sleds went on and on, up to the crest of one little 
hill and down and up again, just as if they were flying. Soon, however, 
they began to slow down, and half way up the third hillock they stop¬ 
ped entirely, and slid back into the tiny white valley. 

“Now we can climb the Matterhorn,” said Abby, jumping up on 
the crust, “and we’ll take turns using the Alpen stock.” 

Little Peg jumped up too. By standing on the toes of her rubber 
boots she could just look over the top of the hillock. Far away up the 
steep white slope she could see the cupola on the top of Locust Lawn. 
‘ “It’s a pretty high Matterhorn, and I can’t walk on the crust,” said 
Little Peg, for her feet were slipping this way and that way on the hard 
snow. 

“We must break some steps to walk in,” said Abby. “That’s what 
they do in Switzerland.” 

She took the Alpen stock and banged the iron spike with all her 
might on the top of the crust. But it had frozen and thawed and frozen 
again for so many weeks that the whole lawn was a hard sheet of ice, 
and Abby had to bang a great many times before she could make 
enough steps for them even to walk out of the little valley behind the 
hillock. Then they began to climb, dragging their sleds behind them. 

The long slope went up and up, a splendid Matterhorn, smooth 
and sparkling on every side. But the tall dark pines along the avenue 
looked miles away, and the house at the top as small as a doll’s house. 

33 


It was hard work digging out steps, one by one, with the Alpen stock, 
and before long Abby’s arms began to ache. Then Little Peg tried, but 
she was so small that she could not break the crust at all. After that 
they tried sticking the Alpen stock in the snow and pulling them¬ 
selves up to it, but every time that they took one step forward they slid 
two steps back, and the house at the top of the hill seemed farther 
away than ever. By and by Little Peg dropped the rope in her hand, 
and away went her sled. 

“Oh dear!” cried Little Peg, and she grabbed for the rope. But her 
feet went out from under her, and if Abby had not grabbed Little 
Peg, she would have gone sliding after her sled. 

Clinging to each other, they watched the little red runaway, spin¬ 
ning around and around down the slope, until it disappeared over a 
dip in the hill. Little Peg looked very sober. 

“Will it go all the way to the dark woods?” she said, and her lip 
trembled, for it had been a Christmas sled too. 

“I guess Caleb can find it,” said Abby. 

“We could sit down on the snow and slide down to the dark woods, 
and get it ourselves,” said Little Peg. “Then we could walk home 
by the avenue” 

“No,” said Abby, “I don’t like it down at the dark woods. Besides, 
we are climbing the Matterhorn.” 

So they turned around again and took hold of hands, and scram¬ 
bled on as well as they could. After a while it did seem that the house 
was not quite so far away, but the lawn grew steeper and steeper, and 
when they came to the place where it sloped up, steepest of all, to the 


34 


avenue, they found that they could not even stand up on the crust. 
They just had to sit down close together, and hold tight to the Alpen 
stock, which Abby stuck in the snow. 

My hands are cold,” said Little Peg miserably. “I don’t like 
this Matterhorn.” 

“Somebody will come and get us pretty soon,” said Abby. Then 
suddenly she remembered that there was nobody at home but Brother 
Charlie, and that he was working on his Invention. “I’ll count three,” 
she said, “and then we’ll both call ‘Yoo-hoo!’ ” 

So Abby and Little Peg sat on the crust of their Matterhorn and 
shouted “Yoo-hoo!” over and over again at the top of their lungs. 
They looked anxiously up the dazzling white slope at the front door of 
Locust Lawn, but nobody came to open it. 

Little Peg was beginning to cry, and Abby to wonder if they 
should freeze to death before any one found them, when suddenly 
somebody did. There was a scratchety sound along the avenue above, 
and over the brink of the lawn peered a little brown face. It was Too- 
Too, and as soon as he saw them he barked for joy, and jumped right 
over the edge of the lawn, out upon the hard crust. 

Then away went Too-Too, upside down, kicking and snorting 
down the slope toward the Alpen climbers. He looked so funny that 
both Abby and Little Peg began to laugh. And as soon as they laughed 
they did not feel half so forlorn and cold. 

“Catch him!” cried Abby to Little Peg, “or he’ll slide all the way 
to the dark woods too!” 

Little Peg held tight to the Alpen stock with one hand, and 

35 


reached with the other as far as she could. But Little Peg’s were just 
too short to reach Too-Too. 

“Oh dear!” she cried. “He’s going the whole way.’’ 

But Too-Too didn’t. 

Instead he tumbled, ker-flop, against Abby’s sled, and stopped. 
A moment later he was right side up on his short brown legs, and Abby 
had pulled him, panting, up between herself and Little Peg. It was a 
comfort to have Too-Too. He was so cheerful and excited that he 
kissed both their faces all over with his wet tongue, and his small body 
was so warm that they took off their mittens and buried their fingers 
in his silky fur. Too-Too sat on the crust and watched the avenue from 
behind his long brown bangs. All at once he cocked his ears and 
barked. There was the sound of bells on the road, and then a sleigh 
came jingling up the avenue. Through the pines Abby and Little Peg 
saw that it was Caleb driving Old Ann and Rosa home from the 
bazaar. 

“Caleb, oh Caleb,” shouted Abby, “we’re stuck on the Matter¬ 
horn!” 

“And my sled has run away,” cried Little Peg. 

Caleb and Old Ann and Rosa all waved their hands as they jingled 
by, but the sleigh went on to the back of the house. 

“Aren’t they coming back?” wailed Little Peg. 

“Caleb always comes back,” said Abby, but she looked a little 
anxious, for the sun was getting low behind the pines and there were 
already long dark shadows across the snow. 

But Abby was right. In a few minutes, by craning their necks, they 

36 


could see Caleb s fur cap in the distance, bobbing along down the 
avenue from the barn, and then he was peering at them over the edge 
of the Matterhorn. He stood there, with his hands on his hips, and 
grunted as if he were very cross indeed, but Abby saw that he had a 
long rope in his hand, and she knew just how merry his eyes were. 

“Hurry, Caleb,” she cried, “we’re frozen!” 

Then Caleb swung the rope over the edge of the crust, and down 
it came to the mountain climbers. Too-Too thought that it was a 
game for him, and grabbed the end of the rope with his sharp little 
teeth. In a moment Caleb had yanked him, snarling and tugging, up 
to the avenue. 

“A fine St. Bernard, he’d make!” grunted Caleb, flicking Too-Too 
away with the rope. 

Then Caleb threw the rope again and pulled Little Peg safely up 
over the crust. Last of all came Abby, and she thought that nothing 
had ever been so jolly as being tugged and hauled by Caleb up to the 
mountain top, her sled tied around her waist. He held her for a mo¬ 
ment at the brink, and pretended that he was going to let her slide 
back. But Abby was not afraid of anything with Caleb. 

“Dangle me some more,” she cried. “It’s fun!” 

“Whew!” said Caleb, when at last Abby stood laughing beside 
him in the avenue. “Don’t let me catch you getting any bigger and 
heavier.” 

“No,” said Abby, and felt the turquoise ring inside her mitten. 
It was still very nice and loose. 

Then Abby and Little Peg and Too-Too went around to the back 

37 


of the house and into the big warm kitchen. As soon as they came in 
the door they could smell something delicious, and in two minutes 
they were sitting at the kitchen table with Old Ann and Rosa, drink¬ 
ing hot chocolate out of the big kitchen cups. Rosa brought sugar 
cookies from the pantry, so that it was almost like a party. And Too- 
Too had a beef bone under the stove. 

After a while through the window they saw Caleb coming around 
the corner of the house with Little Peg’s runaway sled, safe and sound. 
And when she had finished her chocolate, and was as warm as toast 
again, Little Peg put on her things and ran out. Then Caleb dragged 
her away on her sled toward home, down over the Little Slope to the 
road. The white world was a fine frosty pink in the sunset, and Abby, 
watching from the window, almost wished that she had gone too. But 
it felt cosy again in the big house, with Old Ann and Rosa clattering 
about the kitchen, and perhaps when the sleigh came home from the 
village there would be a plump red banana under the buffalo rugs for 
her supper. Abby watched until Caleb and Little Peg had disappeared 
into the snowy dusk. Then she ran up the two long flights again to 
Brother Charlie’s room. 

“Hello!” said Brother Charlie, looking up in surprise when the 
door opened. “Where did you come from?” He was still working on 
his Invention, and he seemed to have forgotten all about the coasting. 

“I’ve brought back your Alpen stock,” said Abby, holding it out, 
“and I’m glad I don’t like to climb the Matterhorn, because if I liked 
it I might want to, and I hate it!” 


3 8 













































































































‘‘Wait till you grow up!” laughed Brother Charlie. 

But Abby did not wait a minute, for just then she heard bells 
jingling again out on the avenue. 

Oh dear! Had they remembered the banana? 


40 


CHAPTER IV 


WHERE IS QUEEN BESS? 

In March came wind and rain, and carried away the beautiful 
snow in little rivers all over Locust Lawn. Then Abby had to play 
in the house, and her best playmate—when she could not have Little 
Peg—was Queen Bess. Queen Bess was soft and sleek and gray, with 
a white tip to her nose, and she was the gentlest of all the cats at 
Locust Lawn. Ann’s Cat, who lived in the kitchen, thought about 
nothing but her food and scratched when she was hungry, and the 
wild Barn Cats, who followed Caleb around at milking time, would 
not let anybody touch them. But Queen Bess liked to sit on the arm 
of a chair and be stroked, and she even purred when she was being 
dressed up in dolls’ clothes. 

One Saturday morning Abby stood at the play-room window, 
watching for Little Peg. The cold rain beat upon the tin roof of 
the piazza, and the fine white crust outside was turning dark and 
watery before her eyes. After a while she saw old Michael Flanagan 
splashing along on the road below in his great hip boots. Then she 
knew that Little Peg would not be coming over to play. For the 
slush on the road was very deep, and Little Peg’s rubber boots were 
not even half as high as Michael Flanagan’s. 

“Oh dear,’’ said Abby to herself, for she wanted Little Peg. 

But just as she turned from the window, somebody opened the 
door at the top of the back stairs. Abby sniffed. Then she ran out of 

4 1 


the play-room and down the stairs to the kitchen, for she knew that 
Old Ann was making a fresh batch of sugar cookies. 

“Can I make some thimble ones?” asked Abby, coming up to 
the table where Old Ann was rolling out a great sheet of dough. 

Old Ann scowled from under her black wig. 

“I’ve not the time to be bothering with you,” she growled. “My 
oven’s a-cooling already.” 

“Oh please. Just a few!” begged Abby. “It’s raining, and I want 
a tea-party with Queen Bess.” 

Old Ann floured her rolling-pin and banged it down on the 
dough. 

“Get the thimble then,” she said shortly. “But mind you keep 
to your own side of the board, and don’t be getting in my way.” 

Abby ran into the pantry where Old Ann kept her big brass 
thimble in a cup, with a spool of thread and a needle to sew up the 
roast chickens on Sunday. When she came back to the table, Old 
Ann had rolled a small sheet of dough very thin and sugared it. 
Abby stood on the opposite side of the board and cut her cookies 
carefully with the thimble. It was a very big thimble, just right for 
Old Ann’s fat finger, but the cookies looked very small. 

“I think I shall need some more,” said Abby. “There are only 
twelve.” 

“Twelve’s enough,” growled Old Ann. 

She picked the thimble cookies up on the blade of a knife, and 
put them on the buttered tin beside her own big ones. After a few 


42 


minutes Old Ann took them out of the oven. They were golden 
brown and just about as big as a thumb-nail. Abby put them on a 
saucer, and Old Ann gave her ever so little milk in a pitcher for 
Queen Bess. 

“If you can find her,” growled Old Ann. And there was a funny 
twitch about Old Ann’s mouth, as there sometimes was when she 
almost smiled. 

Abby walked up the back stairs to the play-room, and set out 
the small white table and two chairs. She put the thimble cookies 
in the middle of the table, and the milk in one of the dolls’ cups 
in front of Queen Bess’ place. Then she hung the white muslin dress 
with the blue ribbon, that belonged to her doll Emily, over the back 
of the chair, ready for Queen Bess. Queen Bess always looked sweet, 
sitting up in the chair drinking her milk, with the bow of blue 
ribbon tied under her gray chin. 

“And now,” said Abby to herself, “where is Queen Bess?’’ 

And she went to look for her. 

First of all she looked in Auntie’s room, for sometimes when 
Auntie forgot to put the cover on her big round work-basket, Queen 
Bess went to sleep on top of the spools. But to-day she was not there. 
Then Abby ran up and down over the house, to all the special places 
where Queen Bess liked to curl up, but she could not find her any¬ 
where. Last of all, Abby went into the little conservatory where 
Mamma was trimming and watering her geraniums. Sometimes in 
the winter, when the ground was covered with snow, Queen Bess 

43 


liked to come and lie among the flower-pots, where there were always 
nice earthy smells. It was moist and spicy in the conservatory this 
morning—like spring—but there was no Queen Bess. 

“I am sure that Old Ann has known all about Queen Bess for 
several days,” laughed Mamma. “Go and ask her.” 

Now what did Mamma mean by that? thought Abby. Then she 
remembered that she had not seen Queen Bess sleeping in any of 
her usual places for ever so long. So she ran back to the kitchen 
where Old Ann was just taking the last of her cookies out of the oven. 

“Have you known all the time where Queen Bess is?” asked 
Abby, standing in front of Old Ann. 

“If anybody’s still small enough to look in the cubby,” growled 
Old Ann, “they can have what they find!” 

“Oh, I’m small enough!” cried Abby, racing across the kitchen. 
For she suddenly knew what it was all about. She got down on her 
hands and knees and crawled in on the warm bricks behind the 
great iron stove. No grown-up ever explored that dim mysterious 
passage, or felt in the little dark cubby under the boiler. But Abby 
remembered now how she had done it last March, and what she 
had found in the cubby. Flat on her stomach, she reached in, and 
there they were, just as she had hoped, two little soft furry things, 
snuggled against their mother. 

“Queen Bess,” whispered Abby into the cubby, “I shall always, 
always come to find you in March, even if I have to grow up and 
wear a bustle.” 


44 


She pulled the two round fluff-balls ever so gently out on the 
bricks, and touched their tiny round heads with the tips of her 
fingers. Queen Bess came out too, and rubbed back and forth against 
Abby’s face, purring proudly. Then, as if she were sure that no harm 
would come to her babies, she walked out to look for her break¬ 
fast. Abby put the kittens into the cubby again, and backed out on 
her hands and knees from behind the stove. 

“Queen Bess,” she called, “wait a minute. We are going to have 
a tea-” 

But suddenly there was such a spitting and yelping and scut- 
tering as Abby had never heard before at Locust Lawn—and there 
was Too-Too flying down the narrow back hall with his tail between 
his legs, and gentle Queen Bess close behind him like a fury. Too-Too 
had come a little too close to the cubby! 

Abby reached the front hall just in time to see Too-Too jump 
from a chair to the top of the hall table, where he stood, shivering, 
but barking bravely. Abby picked up Queen Bess, very stiff and 
growly, and stroked her ruffled fur. As soon as Too-Too saw that 



45 




he was safe, he jumped down to the floor again and ran for the 
stairs, and although he went like a little brown streak, Abby could 
see that he had something in his mouth. Too-Too, indeed, had picked 
up a letter from the hall table and was making off with it. 

“Oh, oh!” cried Abby, “somebody stop him! He’s got a letter 
from Brother Henry, and he’s chewing it up!’’ For the letter was 
in a big blue envelope, and Too-Too was shaking it savagely as 
he ran. 

Abby dropped Queen Bess and scampered up the stairs after 
Too-Too. This was the beginning of a mad chase. Down the long 
upper hall went Too-Too, with Abby after him—through Auntie’s 
room and Mamma’s room, and around the halls again to the back 
stairs. Too-Too thought that it was a jolly game, and it might have 
lasted a long time, for he could run like the wind. But at the foot 
of the back stairs he ran suddenly—plunk—into Old Ann. 

Now Old Ann was the only person in the world that Too-Too 
was afraid of—except Queen Bess when she had a family—and as 
soon as he saw who it was he dropped the letter and went scuttling 
off out of sight as fast as he could. Then Abby picked up the blue 
envelope, and for a few minutes she forgot all about Too-Too and 
Queen Bess and the tea-party. She went quickly up the back stairs 
to where Auntie was still sewing by her window. 

“See,’’ she cried, holding out the letter, “it’s for me again. Per¬ 
haps it’s about my present!” 

Then she sat down in the small rocking chair close beside Auntie, 
and they read the letter together. This is what it said: 

46 



















































Dear Abby, 

I was glad to hear about the snow at Locust Lawn. I hope 
that you will have a lot more fun in it and keep it a long time— 
because we don’t want it in Texas. When we have a snow-storm 
here it is just the right size to put in a salt-shaker, so we don’t 
have any trouble with Matterhorns. 

I suppose you are almost grown up by now, and friz your 
hair and go out to afternoon tea. That’s too bad, because I 
suppose it’s too late for you to like that birthday present I’ve 
been saving for you. Well, perhaps I’d better not send it 
after all. 

Yours affectionately, 

Brother Henry 

P.S. Let’s see—I teas going to draw som,e more of it, wasn’t 
I? Well, here it is. 



Pretty, isn’t it? 


48 


Brother H. 



But I do want my present!’’ cried Abby. “He won’t not send 
it, will he?” 

Before Auntie could reply, there was a bang and clatter in the 
play-room. 

“What’s that /” cried Auntie. 

They ran across the hall, and there was the little white table on 
its side in the middle of the play-room floor, with the milk spattered 
all over the carpet. Too-Too had come to the tea-party by himself, 
and he was just gobbling up the last of the thimble cookies. Abby’s 
lip trembled. 

“You bad dog,” she cried. But Too-Too only wagged his tail, 
and looked very much pleased with himself. 

“Never mind,” said Auntie, “I don’t believe Queen Bess has 
time for tea-parties just now. You and I will have one instead, and 
we can call it a christening feast and name the kittens!” 

So Auntie herself went downstairs and brought up cambric tea 
in the littlest tea-pot, and a plate of Old Ann’s fresh sugar cookies— 
which were really much bigger and nicer than the thimble cookies. 
Then Auntie and Abby sat in front of the play-room fire and drank 
their tea, and decided what the kittens should be named. But al¬ 
though they looked and looked at Brother Henry’s drawing, they 
could not decide about that at all. 

As soon as the christening feast was over, Abby sat down at the 
desk in Auntie’s room and wrote an answer to Brother Henry. This 
is her letter: 


49 


Dear Brother Henry, 

I am not grown up and I don’t friz my hair and I do want 
my present. What is it? Please send it right away. We have two 
new members in the family. Auntie and I have named them. 
I will draw their pictures. 



Please draw my present plain like that the next time. 

With love, 


Abby 


It took Abby a long time to finish her letter, for she did not 
write very fast, and when she looked up she was surprised to find 
that the room was full of sunshine. She ran to the window and looked 
out. The rain had stopped and all over Locust Lawn there were 
brown islands of last year’s grass showing between the snow patches. 
Caleb was coming up the avenue, driving Major harnessed to the 
big express wagon instead of to the sleigh. Spring had come to 
Locust Lawn! 


CHAPTER V 


SOMETHING SPECIAL TO PLANT 

As soon as she opened her eyes on that April morning, Abby 
sat up in bed and looked out of the window, to make sure that 
there were no clouds, for something special was going to happen 
today —unless it rained. She had heard drops pattering on the piazza 
roof when she went to bed, but now she could see nothing but blue 
sky. The buds of the wistaria about the window, and the feathery 
tops of the elms on the lawn were bright with sunshine. A sweet 
spring wind blew in at the open window, and the crows in the pines 
were calling to one another in their cool sharp voices. Abby loved 
to hear the crows in the early morning. They always seemed to be 
saying, “Come—Come—Come,” as if they knew about far-away new 
places to play. But this morning, as she buttoned her shoes, Abby 
was not thinking about the crows. She was wondering what Papa 
had meant the night before. 

“This year you are a big girl,” he had said, “and to-morrow you 
shall plant something very special, just for yourself.” 

“My pansies and sweet peas?” said Abby. For she always had a 
flower garden near Mamma’s roses. 

“Something bigger than that,” said Papa. 

“My radishes?” said Abby. For last year Caleb had helped her 
to have her own row of radishes among his vegetables. 

“Something finer than that,” said Papa. But he would not tell 

5 1 



her any more before she went to bed. 

And now morning was here, and as soon as breakfast was over 
they would start. For this was the day when she and Papa were going 
on their spring walk together. Every year in April, Papa stayed at 
home from the city for a whole day, and walked around Locust 
Lawn, to watch Caleb prune the trees and set the big place in order. 
Abby always went too, holding Papa’s hand, and when she was very 
little she had been sure that it must be Papa who brought the spring 
to Locust Lawn, because after he had walked around it everything 
began to blossom. 

When Papa had finished his morning cigar in the library, and 
Abby had been out to the kitchen, to make sure that all was right 
in the cubby, they put on their hats and went up the avenue together 
to the barn. Caleb was waiting for them, with hatchet and shears 
and saw, and then the walk really began. 

First, they went down behind the barn where the vegetables 
grew in summer. To-day it was nothing but a big ploughed field, 
black and empty in the April sunshine. 

“Am I going to plant my special thing here?” asked Abby. 

“Oh, no,” said Papa, “it is not a vegetable.” 

Papa told Caleb where all the rows of peas and corn and beans 
should be planted. While he was doing this, Abby ran back and 
forth over the field, making nice rows of little foot-marks in the 
soft earth. Then they walked on, to the back of Locust Lawn, where 
the long grape trellises stood against the high fence. 

52 


“Am I going to plant my special thing here?” asked Abby. 

“Oh, no,” said Papa, “it is not a grape vine.” 

Papa showed Caleb how he should tie up the bare vines, where 
the purple grapes would hang thick in the fall. While he was doing 
this, Abby climbed the trellis and peeked over the top of the fence 
into Michael Flanagan’s field. She could see old Michael himself 
spading up a garden beside his dark little cottage, but when he 
saw her face above the fence he scowled and shook his fist. Abby 
scrambled down as fast as she could, but she was not afraid, because 
she was on the same side of the fence as Papa. After that they walked 
far down over the lawn. 

“Am I going to plant my especial thing among the trees?” asked 
Abby, surprised. 

“Oh no,” said Papa. But this time he did not sound quite so sure. 

Abby looked at Papa, but she could not see whether he was smil¬ 
ing or not, because he was so very high up. Caleb climbed into the 
trees and sawed and cut the dead wood. While he was doing this, 
Papa and Abby made brush piles of the old twigs and branches 
which Caleb threw down. 

“Whoever makes the biggest piles shall go up with Caleb to get 
the wheel-barrow and ride back,” said Papa. 

Abby knew that she would be the one, for she had never seen 
Papa in a wheel-barrow. They went from tree to tree, and some¬ 
times, when it was a long way, Papa carried her pig-a-back. 

“Whew," said Papa, setting her down, “when we have our spring 

53 


walk next year you will have to go on your own legs.” 

“Oh, dear!” said Abby. For she did not see how she could bear 
to be too big to ride pig-a-back with Papa. 

In a high maple there was a robin’s nest, and Papa lifted her 
up so that she could see the blue eggs in it. Then he told Caleb 
not to trim that tree until the little birds had hatched and flown. 
And in the hole of an old oak, Caleb found two baby squirrels 
snuggled together quite by themselves. The hole was too high up 
for Abby to look in, but Caleb held one of the babies up like a 
kitten. It looked very small and helpless, dangling from Caleb’s 
hands among the oak leaves. 

“Oh, I want it!” cried Abby. “It’s even sweeter than Dot and 
Dash.” 

“We’ll wait until it is big enough to run down the tree,” said 
Papa. 

“Then it will run too fast,” said Abby. “Squirrels hardly ever 
wait for any one.” 

But Caleb put the squirrel baby back into its hole. At last it 
was time to go to the barn for the wheel-barrow. 

“When am I going to plant my special thing?” asked Abby 
anxiously. 

“As soon as you come back from the barn,” said Papa. 

“We’ll come fast!” said Abby, for she had been on wheel-barrow 
rides with Caleb before. 

So she and Caleb walked up to the barn, and after a while they 
came tipping and jouncing back down the avenue. Abby sat in the 

54 


wheel-barrow, holding tight to the sides and squealing, for Caleb 
ran over every bump, and when they came to the front of the house, 
he pretended to tip her out into the tulip bed. 

Aren’t we going back to Papa to get the brush piles?” asked 
Abby. And what are we going to dig?” For Caleb had put a big 
shovel into the wheel-barrow at the barn. 

Caleb only grunted, and went on up the hill into the orchard. 
And there stood Papa among the fruit trees. He was holding some¬ 
thing up in front of him, so that Abby could hardly see him. All 
at once she knew that that was her special thing! She tumbled out 
of the wheel-barrow and ran to Papa. 

“Would you like,” he said, “to plant this?” 

“Oh,” cried Abby, “it’s a baby apple tree! Oh yes!” 

Papa set the little tree down on the ground, and held it up while 
Abby looked. It had tiny spreading branches and a pretty round top, 
and at the bottom were ever so many shaggy brown roots. 

“It’s just like a real apple tree, only little and cunning,” said 
Abby. “If I were a doll I could play house in it and sit in the top 
of it and eat apples.” This was what Abby did in the big apple trees. 
“Will it be my very own,” she asked, patting the little tree, “and 
all the apples on it?” 

“Yes,” said Papa. 

“And all the apple-blossoms too?” said Abby. “To pick on 
Auntie’s birthday?” Auntie always had her birthday in May. 

“If you pick your blossoms you won’t have any apples,” laughed 
Papa. “Come now and plant your tree.” 

55 


So Caleb dug a big hole in the ground with the shovel, and Papa 
helped Abby to set the little tree into the hole and hold it, while 
Caleb shoveled back the soft dark earth. Abby shoveled some too 
with the trowel, until all the shaggy brown roots were covered, and 
thumped the earth, to pack it down and make the ground firm again. 
Then the little tree stood straight and sturdy all by itself, its small 
twigs waving merrily in the spring wind, as if it liked its new home. 

‘‘Will it have apples this fall?” asked Abby. 

‘‘Perhaps—a few,” said Papa. “But by the time that you are 
grown up there will be enough for you to have apple tart every day 
for your dinner!” 

Abby looked disappointed. She loved apple tart, but she did 
not like to have anybody, even Papa, talk about growing up. 

‘‘When will that be?” she asked soberly. 

‘‘When you are as tall as your little tree,” said Papa. 

Abby stood beside her tree, and put her arms up high, but she 
could just touch the tip-top branch. She would have to grow a 
long, long time, she thought with a sigh of relief, before she was 
grown-up. 

Papa and Caleb went about the orchard, planting other apple 
saplings, but Abby hardly saw them. She sat under her little tree, 
with her arm about the trunk, and looked up among the small 
branches. When it was big enough to climb she should step from 
that branch to that branch to that branch, and then in the crotch at 
the top she should sit down in that beautiful high seat and look out 
over all of Locust Lawn. And if by that time she had to wear a 

56 



bustle, and it would not fit nicely into the crotch, why she should 
just throw it down upon the ground! 


Oh, it was wonderful to have a little tree all your own! 

57 







CHAPTER VI 


EMMA 

Every day Abby went up the hill into the orchard, to see her 
little apple tree. She measured herself against it, but it was always 
taller than she was, so that was all right. After a while there were 
tiny gray-green leaves all over the tree, as soft as cotton wool. Then 
one morning in May, on a high branch, she discovered a tiny pink 
bud. It was just before Auntie’s birthday, so Abby kept the apple 
blossom bud a secret. She remembered what Papa had said about 
there not being any apples if you picked the blossoms, and she did 
not quite know what to do. For she hoped very much that a nice 
little red apple would grow on her tree, and yet she also wanted 
to give the blossom to Auntie for her birthday. So she took Mamma 
into the secret, for Mamma could always think of pleasant ways to 
do things. 

“If I were you,” said Mamma, “I should invite Auntie to a 
birthday party under your tree. Then she can enjoy the apple blos¬ 
som bud just as much as if you picked it and brought it into the 
house, and you can still have your apple by and by.” 

So that is what Abby did, and Auntie, who always liked parties, 
said that she should love to come. Then Abby asked Rosa for an 
old napkin, to spread under the apple tree for a table cloth, and 
she asked Old Ann to bake her a little birthday cake just for two. 

“It’s baking day anyway, you know,” said Abby, “and I can put 

on the candles myself.” 


58 


Old Ann looked growly, and said ‘‘Shoo—get along with you!” 
But Abby felt sure that she would bake the cake. And then, when 
the birthday came. Auntie was suddenly called away for the whole 
afternoon. 

“Never mind,” she said, as she put on her bonnet, “there will 
be lots of sunny afternoons in May, and we can have our party some 
other day.” 

“But it won’t be a real birthday party because you won’t be an¬ 
other year older that day,” explained Abby. 

“I shall not mind that,” laughed Auntie. Then she went down¬ 
stairs and got into the carriage and drove away. 

Abby was so disappointed that she went up to the play-room, 
and sat in her little rocking chair by the window, with her face in 
her hands. But this was not much fun on a beautiful May day, and 
after a while she lifted her head and looked out of the window. The 
air was sweet with the lilacs behind the house, and up the hillside 
were drifts upon drifts of apple blossoms, almost as if the snow had 
come again to Locust Lawn. At the top of the orchard Abby saw 
Caleb standing by her little tree, with a saw in his hand. 

“Oh, Oh!” cried Abby. And she jumped up from her chair and 
brushed the tears from her eyes. Was Caleb going to cut her little 
tree? And would he hurt the apple blossom bud? 

In despair Abby flew down the stairs to the door, and up the 
hillside through the orchard. But before she could reach Caleb he 
had sawn quite a big branch from her little tree, and stood looking 
at it with a frown. There was a bunch on the branch, but it was 


59 


not the apple blossom bud. Abby threw her arms around the trunk 
of her tree. 

“You mustn’t cut it!” she cried. “It’s my own!” 

* 

“Humph!” said Caleb, “do you want it eaten up entirely?” 

Then Abby saw that the bunch on the branch which Caleb had 
cut was full of crawly caterpillars, that eat up the leaves of little trees. 

“What are you going to do with my branch?” she said. 

“Burn it,” replied Caleb. 

“Oh no!” cried Abby, who could not bear to have anything 
dreadful like that happen to any of her little tree. “Give it to me!” 

So Caleb cut off the bunch of caterpillars, and gave the stick to 
Abby. Then he trundled his wheel-barrow away down the hill, to 
collect more brush. Abby held the stick out in front of her, with 
tears in her eyes. Caleb had no right to cut such a big branch off 
her own tree. Then all at once she saw what a funny shape it had. 
There was a sort of nubbet at the top, like a head, with long out¬ 
stretched arms below. At the bottom it divided into two branching 
legs. 

“Why, you’re just like a person,” said Abby aloud — and she 
brushed away the last of her tears. “I shall name you something.” 
She stared at the apple branch, and thought hard for a moment. 
Then she smiled. “I know,” she said, “I shall call you Emma, because 
Auntie couldn’t come (Emma was Auntie’s name), and we’ll have 
a party just the same, for it’s really your birthday too. And I can 
eat your cake for you!” 

So Abby stood Emma against the apple tree, and ran down to 

60 









the house. In the kitchen window, cooling on a plate, was a little 
round cake with white icing, exactly the right size for two. Abby 
went to the panty drawer and brought a pink birthday candle in a 
holder. Emma could not be more than one, she had been cut from 
the little tree, and Abby knew how very young the tree was. Abby 
stuck the candle in the middle of the cake, and picked up the plate 
and the old napkin, which Rosa had left for her on the table. 

“Who’s going to eat that cake, now that your Auntie has gone?” 
demanded Old Ann, her hands on her hips, and a frown under her 
black wig. 

“Well,” said Abby, “I might have a friend.” 

“Humph,” said Old Ann, as if she did not believe it. 

Abby walked slowly up through the orchard, holding the cake 
very carefully. She spread the napkin on the grass under her little 
tree, and set the cake in the middle of it. Then she picked some 
young grape leaves from the trellis near the high fence, and laid 
them in a circle, like a wreath, around the cake. Emma stood against 
the tree, and every time that Abby looked at her, she liked her better. 

“You are a friend,” she said, “so it was true what I said to Old 
Ann.” The birthday table looked so pretty that it seemed a pity 
not to invite more guests. “I know,” said Abby to Emma, “I will 
bring Dot and Dash in the doll carriage. It will be their first party.” 

So she ran down the hill again to the house. She found Dot and 

Dash romping together in the shed behind the kitchen. They were 

big kittens now, and had already been for more than one ride in 

the doll carriage, but, unlike their mother, Queen Bess, they did 

62 


not purr when they were dressed up. Instead, they mewed and 
squirmed and scratched the doll clothes. Abby had a dreadful time 
getting them ready for the party, and in the end Dot wore nothing 
but a small lace cap, tied under his chin, and Dash a jersey. They 
had to be tied with a strap into the doll carriage, to keep them from 
jumping out. Abby started up the hill with them, but when she 
came in sight of her little tree she stopped short. In the middle of 
the table cloth sat another, quite uninvited, guest, who never missed 
a party. Now he had the birthday cake in his mouth! 

“Too-Too!” cried Abby. “Drop it, quick!” 

At the sounds behind him, Too-Too pranced off the table cloth, 
and went frisking away with the cake in his mouth. He would have 
run away with it entirely if just at that moment Dot and Dash had 
not suddenly broken the strap and got out of the doll carriage. 
Too-Too was not really very hungry for the cake, for he had just 
finished a bone, and he loved to see kittens run. So he dropped the 
part of the cake that he had not swallowed, and the chase began. 
Down the hill scampered Dot and Dash, with Too-Too close behind, 
yelping for joy. 

“Oh dear!” cried Abby, for the shed was far away, and there 
was nothing to run under until you came to the piazza at the foot 
of the hill. 

But Dot and Dash had played in the orchard all their lives, and 
just as Too-Too was nipping at their heels, up they scampered into 
a big apple tree. Dot almost did not get up in time, because his 
jersey was a tight fit. But a moment later they were both in the top- 

63 


























most branches, and Too-Too was jumping against the bottom of 
the tree, barking his head off. But Too-Too thought that kittens 
in a tree were no fun at all, and before Abby could even run down 
the hill to the rescue, he had given them up, and was trotting away 
to the house to look for more mischief. He had already forgotten 
the cake and the party. 

“Come, kitty, kitty, kitty,” called Abby, standing at the foot of 
the big apple tree. But Dot and Dash had never been up so high 
in their lives, and they were afraid to come down. Abby could hear 
their faint mewing, and see Dot’s face in his lace cap, peering down 
from the top-most notch, like a little old woman’s. Dash clung as 
tightly as he could to the trunk with the arms of his jersey, but he 
kept slipping and slipping. 

“Hold on,” called Abby, “I’m coming.” 

Then she jumped for the lowest branch, and swung herself up. 
Abby was a fine climber, and very soon she was high enough to 
reach the kittens. First, she brought down Dash, and took off his 
tight jersey and carried him safely to the shed. Then she went back 
for Dot. He had already pulled his lace cap down over his eyes and 
bitten a hole in it, so Abby took that off too. She left them both 
being washed and comforted by Queen Bess. Then she went up 
again into the orchard to her little tree and Emma. She found that 
Too-Too had not eaten much of the cake after all, and there were 
hardly any tooth marks on it. So she brushed off the icing, and she 
and Emma had a very happy party under the apple blossom bud. 

When the last crumb of the cake had been eaten, Abby put 

65 


Emma’s long arm through hers, and they went for a walk, and Abby 
showed Emma all the nicest things at Locust Lawn—the hay-mow 
in the barn where you jumped, the locust trees on the lawn where 
you played house, and the grassy hollow that was red with colum¬ 
bines in May. Abby and Emma sat together for a long time in the 
hollow and ate the honey from the columbine blossoms, and Abby 
told Emma a great many special things—what she was afraid of, and 
what she thought about when she was alone, and how she was 
never going to grow up. Emma did not smile in a funny way, as 
the grown-ups did, or look surprised like Little Peg. She just listened 
comfortably, as if she understood everything, like a real friend. Per¬ 
haps, thought Abby, she should not even mind their putting out 
the light at night if Emma were there. 

They walked together, arm in arm, up the avenue, and were 
very happy. When they came to the house, there was Brother Charlie 
at the top of the stone steps. He was holding Too-Too in the air by 
the collar, and there was a great deal of kicking and yapping going 
on. Too-Too must have been meddling with the Invention again! 

“Hello,” called Brother Charlie, as soon as he saw Abby and 
Emma. “You’re in the nick of time. I was just looking for an old 
stick like that to break over this rascal!” 

Abby stood very still in the middle of the avenue. Just an old 
stick—to break! Holding her friend’s arm tightly in hers, Abby turned 
and ran—ran fast down the lawn and across the road to the Willow 
Pond. There in a cubby between two willows, Abby hid Emma. 


66 


"Don’t be lonesome,” she said, 


"I shall come 


shall think of you at night when it’s dark.” 


every day, and I 





67 

























CHAPTER VII 


PEA POD VOYAGES 

Abby and Little Peg were out in the garden one June morning, 
helping Mamma to cut roses, when suddenly they saw Auntie stand¬ 
ing at the end of the piazza, waving something blue. 

“It’s another letter from Brother Henry!” cried Abby. “With 
the picture of my present!” And she dropped her flower scissors, 
and ran to the house. 

Little Peg ran too. Auntie was shelling peas on the piazza, and 
Abby and Little Peg sat down side by side on the step and read 
the letter. 

Dear Abby, 

So you think you are not growing up. Well, then perhaps 
after all you are not big enough for my present. You see, you 
have to be just big enough and not too big—or else something 
dreadful will happen when you try to use it! Youll know what 
I mean when you see it. I cant send it now because the weather 
is too hot, and it wont go in the ice chest. Let me know when 
you have some cool days—not to cool, you know, but just right 
for a little —I almost zurote it! That was a close shave! 

Your affectionate 

** Brother Henry 

P.S. I liked the plain kittens. 

Thank you for telling me 
how to draw my present. 

Here is some more of it. 

Bro. H. 



68 



Abby jumped up from the step. 

But its not any plainer than the other pictures!” she cried 
sadly, for she did want very much to know what her present was. 

Auntie took the letter and looked at the drawing. 

I think that it may be worth waiting for,” she said with a smile. 

But I have to wait until it is cold weather,” said Abby, “and 
that might be November. I wish it was November now.” 

“If it were November,” said Auntie, “you and Little Peg and I 
could not do the nice June thing that we are going to do this very 
minute.” 

“What?” said Little Peg. 

“Did you ever,” said Auntie, “send any paper dolls to sea in a 
beautiful pea-green boat?” 

“How?” said Abby. And she looked very cheerful again and for¬ 
got Brother Henry’s letter, for Auntie could always think of pleas¬ 
ant games to play. 

“First you must both help to shell the peas,” said Auntie. 

So Abby and Little Peg ran into the house and brought two 
small yellow bowls. They liked to shell peas with Auntie, because 
they always raced to see if they could fill their bowls before she did, 
and if they could Auntie gave them each a lime drop out of her big 
glass jar. They usually had the lime drops, because Auntie’s bowl was 
ever so much bigger than theirs. 

They sat down now on the steps, and began to shell the peas as 
fast as they could. But Auntie put down her bowl, and took out of 

69 


her apron pocket some little pieces of broken matches, a pair of 
scissors, several sheets of white paper and a box of long pins. 

“To-day,” she said, “we will not have a race, because we must 
shell our peas very carefully.” 

Then she picked out the largest pea-pod that she could find in 
her bowl, and showed Abby and Little Peg how to take out the 
peas without splitting the ends of the pod. Next, she put two of the 
match ends across the pod, like this, so that it looked exactly like 

a little boat. Then she cut out a small tri¬ 
angle of white paper, and stuck it with a pin 
on one of the match ends in the boat. And 
there was as fine a sailing sloop as any paper 
doll ever went to sea in. 

“Now,” said Auntie, “we will see how big 
a fleet of tight little boats we can make.” 

So Abby and Little Peg began to shell, trying not to split the 
ends of the pea-pods—“For the boats must be unbroken,” said Auntie, 
“or they will sink, and the paper dolls will have to swim ashore, 
and that will be very bad for their back-bones.” 

It seemed at first as if those stubborn pea-pods just would not 
be changed into little green boats, for no matter how carefully Abby 
and Little Peg split them in the middle—zip, would go the end of 
the pod, and the little boat would be ruined. But they kept on try¬ 
ing, and before the peas were all shelled they had eleven tight boats 
between them. Then Auntie cut out eleven sails, and Little Peg 
put them on the pin masts, while Abby stuck them into the boats. 

70 






It s the prettiest fleet I ever saw,” said Auntie. “Now we must 

• * 

make the dolls.” 

She took the scissors again, folded the white paper, and cut out 
a row of tiny 
sailors, like this: 



Abby and Little Peg snipped them apart, and set one in the stern 
of each boat, gay and brave in their white sailor suits. 

“There is one extra boat,” said Abby. 

“That is meant for the Owl and the Pussy-Cat,” said Auntie, “and 
here they are!” And she held up two more 
passengers which she had cut out like this: 



Last of all, Auntie took a pencil and printed a big A for Abby 
on five of the little sails, and a big P for Little Peg on the other five. 
On the eleventh one she printed O and P, like this: 



“Now they are ready to go to sea in the Willow Pond,” said 
Auntie. “Put two pebbles in each boat to make it steady, and keep 
an eye on the Owl and the Pussy-Cat, for they are wonderful sailors, 

7 1 






















and they may sail away for a year and a day when you are not looking.” 

Then Auntie set the boats into the empty basket where the peas 
had been, and Abby and Little Peg went down the steps of the 
piazza, holding the basket between them. They did not walk across 
the lawn, for Caleb had not yet done the June mowing, and Abby 
knew that the high grass must not be trodden down. To-day it was 
white with daisies and red with sorrel, and it waved in the June 
breeze as far as they could see. 

Abby and Little Peg walked very slowly down the avenue, so 
that they should not jounce the basket. In a few minutes they came 
to the edge of Willow Pond. At one end of the pond was a very small 
bay, as wide as a kitchen table. Soft grass came down to the edge, and 
there were tiny ripples on the water. Abby and Little Peg put two 
pebbles in each of the pea-pods, as Auntie had said, and set the boats 
carefully on top of the water. They floated beautifully, and danced 
up and down on the ripples, just like real little sloops. 

“Let’s race them,” said Abby. 

So she and Little Peg lay down on their stomachs in the grass, 
close to the edge of the water, and Abby tried to blow all the boats 
that had A on them, and Little Peg tried to blow all those that had P 
on them. 

“Puff-puff,” went Abby, drawing in a long breath. 

“Puff-puff-puff,” went Little Peg, drawing in a still longer one. 

The boats danced across the tiny bay. Sometimes two of Abby’s 
were ahead, and sometimes three of Little Peg’s. Then suddenly 
Abby and Little Peg took a very deep breath at exactly the same 

72 


moment, and blew so hard together, that over on their sides went 
nine little boats, and into the water went nine little sailors in their 
clean white suits! 

Oh, oh!” cried Abby and Little Peg in despair. 

They reached out over the water as far as they could, and pulled 
the little sailors ashore, but Auntie was right. The water had been 
very bad for their back-bones, and they could not sit up. They could 
only lie flat on the grass, very limp and white, with outstretched 
arms. The pebbles had fallen out of the pea-pods, and the boats 
drifted upside down in the water—all but one, with a P on its sail. 
That one had been blown safely to the other side of the bay. 

“I beat!” cried Little Peg. 

But Abby did not hear. 

“Where” she cried, “are the Owl and the Pussy-Cat?” 

They had been left among the grasses at the edge of the little 
bay, where they could watch the races, but now their pea-green boat 
was nowhere to be seen. Abby and Little Peg looked up the pond 
and down the pond, and then they saw it. It was far out upon the 
water, bouncing up and down upon the large ripples, as if it were 
in an ocean storm. The Owl and the Pussy-Cat had really gone to 
sea, when nobody was looking, just as Auntie had said. Abby and 
Little Peg looked very sober, for they liked the Owl and the Pussy-Cat 
best of all. 

“Perhaps we can poke them in with something,” said Abby. And 
she ran down the shore. 

Little Peg ran in among the willows. 

73 


“I’ve got something fine to poke with,” she called. 

Abby turned and looked. Then suddenly she stamped her feet 
and clapped her hands together. 

“Don’t touch that stick!” she cried angrily. “Don’t you dare!” 

For it was Emma! Little Peg had found the cubby among the 
willows. 

“Why?” asked Little Peg, and she looked at the stick with round 
eyes. 

“Because, because-” began Abby, and stopped. 

Not even with Little Peg could she share the secret about Emma. 

“Because I don’t want you to,” she explained. “That’s a special 
stick I keep here.” 

Little Peg dropped Emma at once. 

“Then, I’m going home,” she said, and she walked away through 
the willows to the road. 

But Abby did not call after her. Instead, she turned and ran 
fast to pick up Emma from the edge of the water where she had 
fallen. Suppose she had floated away into the pond and been lost! 
Abby dried Emma’s wet feet on the hem of her gingham dress. Then 
they went together for a walk, as they did every day. But although 
they walked around the pond twice, and looked in every bay and 
inlet, they could not find the Owl and the Pussy-Cat and the pea- 
green boat. 

“They must have sailed away to the Land where the Bong Tree 
grows,” said Abby, and she sighed a little. 

74 



But she did not really care very much, for Emma was more fun, 
anyway. 



75 






CHAPTER VIII 


CHERRIES ARE RIPE 



In July the apple on Abby’s little tree began to turn red. When 
the petals on the apple-blossom bud had first fallen there had been 
just a tiny green apple, smaller than a grape, but now it was almost 
as large as a plum, and it had a rosy cheek. It was hidden away among 
the leaves, and nobody except Abby herself knew anything about it 
—not even Little Peg. Abby did not dare to show it to Little Peg, 
for sometimes Little Peg took bites out of green apples, to see if they 
were ripe. Every day Abby went up into the orchard to make sure 
that nobody, not even a worm, had taken a bite out of her beautiful 

round little apple. When it was 
ripe it was to be given to a special 
person —and nobody knew any¬ 
thing about that either. Abby al¬ 
ways had to stand on tip-toe to see 
her little apple among the leaves; 

so she knew that she was 
not beginning to grow 
up. 

“Let’s play house in 
the orchard,” said Little 
Peg one afternoon when 
she came to Locust Lawn. 


7 6 




Abby was swinging in the swing by the side door. The great lawn 
shimmered in the July sunshine, but it was cool under the maple 
where the swing was, and the air was sweet with clover. 

“We can’t,” said Abby, “Sister Florence and Sister Sazie are going 
to have a lawn-tennis party this afternoon, and Mamma said that I 
must not be seen until cake-time.” 

Little Peg looked very disappointed, for she liked to play house in 
the orchard better than anything else, but she knew that the lawn- 
tennis court was just at the foot of the hill. 

“There’s the dolls’ orchard,” said Little Peg. They always called 
the currant bushes the dolls’ orchard, because the currants made such 
nice red apples to put on the dining-room table in the dolls’ house. 

“No,” said Abby, “Old Ann would see us from the kitchen, and 
she’ll be very cross if anybody eats any more currants until she makes 
her jelly.” 

Little Peg looked more disappointed than ever, for she liked the 
apples in the dolls’ orchard almost as well as the bites out of the big 
green ones in the real orchard. 

“We could play house in the cherry tree,” said Little Peg. 

“The cherries aren’t ripe,” said Abby. “Auntie said so.” 

But she stopped swinging and looked up the hill. The cherry tree 
was a beautiful place to play house, and it stood at the very top of the 
orchard, quite out of sight of the lawn-tennis court. 

“We must go right away,” she said, “or we shall not be ready at 

cake-time.” 


77 


She jumped down from the swing and ran into the house, Little 
Peg close behind. They went up to the play-room and got Lily and 
Jack, who had hard china heads and did not mind falling out of trees, 
and Pip, who was made of worsted, and a little basket with the wooden 
tea-set in it. Then they ran down to the kitchen where Old Ann and 
Rosa were setting out the things for the lawn-tennis party. There were 
tall shiny glasses on a tray for the raspberry shrub, and a plate of cin¬ 
namon cookies, sprinkled with walnuts. Abby tip-toed up to the table 
and stood before the cinnamon cookies. It was very hot in the kitchen, 
and Old Ann looked very red and growly. 

‘‘Could we please have just one —to play house with?” begged 
Abby. 

‘‘No, that you can’t!” replied Old Ann shortly. 

But Rosa smiled, and beckoned to Abby and Little Peg behind 
Old Ann’s back. They went into the pantry with Rosa, and she put a 
honey-cake and two walnut meats into the basket with the wooden 
tea-set. 

‘‘Run along now quickly,” she whispered, ‘‘and I’ll save two cin¬ 
namon cookies.” 

Abby and Little Peg walked up through the orchard to the top 
of the hill, where the cherry tree stood against the high fence that 
divided Locust Lawn from Michael Flanagan’s berry pasture. At the 
bottom of the tree were low spreading branches, where Lily and Jack 
and Pip could sit facing one another in a sort of little room, and up in 
the top were comfortable places where the dolls could be put to bed. 

‘‘I’ll be the father,” said Abby to Little Peg, ‘‘and you can be the 

78 


mother, and we’ll play it is supper time and I am just coming home 
from business.” 

Little Peg climbed into the tree, and Abby handed up the dolls 
and the basket. Then Abby went away behind the grape trellis. In a 
little while she came walking home from business, carrying some¬ 
thing done up in her handkerchief. 

“I stopped at the butcher’s,” said father Abby, “and bought some 
lamb chops for the children.” 

She opened her handkerchief, and there were ever so many fuzzy 
brown caterpillars! 

“Oh, oh!” cried Little Mother Peg. And she went scrambling up 
to the top of the tree, leaving the children behind, for she was dread¬ 
fully afraid of crawly things. Father Abby put the supper on the 
wooden plates in front of the children, but the lamb chops kept crawl¬ 
ing away. Little Mother Peg looked on from the top of the tree, but 
she would not come down. After a while father Abby grew tired of 
chasing the lamb chops, and climbed up to the top of the tree too with 
the honey-cake, and they had their supper together upstairs. 

“I think this cherry is ripe,” said Little Peg, when they had fin- 
ished the honey-cake. 

So she picked it and tried it. Then Abby tried one. 

“Let’s eat one more,” said Little Peg. 

So they did. They threw their cherry stones down on the ground, 
and after a while there seemed to be a great many of them around the 
bottom of the tree. 

“I think we would better throw them over the fence,” said Abby. 

79 


This was fun, because they were throwing them right into old 
Michael Flanagan’s berry pasture, without his knowing anything 
about it. 

“Only I hope a lot of nice little cherry trees won’t grow up on 
the other side of the fence for him,’’ said Abby. 

They ate and ate, until their faces were covered with cherry 
stains. Then suddenly they heard a queer snort on the other side of 
the fence. 

“What was that?’’ whispered Little Peg. 

“I don’t know,’’ Abby whispered back. 

With scared faces, they edged along the branches toward the fence, 
until they could peek over. And there in the berry pasture, leaning 
against the fence just below them, sat Michael Flanagan himself, with 
his legs stuck out in front of him! And peppered all over his legs, and 
over the old cap on his knees, were the cherry stones which Abby and 
Little Peg had thrown into the pasture! 

“Oh dear!’’ cried Abby, for she had never been so close to old 
Michael Flanagan before. 

But Little Peg picked another cherry and ate it. Then she leaned 
out over the fence and, before Abby could stop her, she dropped the 
stone straight down on the top of old Michael’s shiny bald head! The 
stone bounced off, but Michael Flanagan opened his eyes with an¬ 
other snort, and put up his hand to rub his head. Then he saw all the 
little cherry stones over his legs, and he looked up into the tree. 

“Wait now, till I catch ye!’’ growled Michael Flanagan. And he 

80 






















reached for the stick that lay beside him, and began to get to his feet, 
mumbling and grumbling. 

“Quick!” cried Abby to Little Peg. And they slid so fast down the 
trunk of the cherry tree that they almost tumbled to the ground. 

It s after ye I’m coming this minute, ye little spalpeens!” shouted 
old Michael Flanagan, pounding on the fence. 

The fence was so high that old Michael could not possibly have 
climbed over it without a ladder. But Abby and Little Peg did not 
stop to think of that. They ran like the wind down through the 
orchard and into the house, and did not feel really safe until they ran 
right into Rosa in the front hall. 

“Look out there!” cried Rosa. For she was carrying a silver tray, 
tinkling with the glasses of raspberry shrub. 

“Is it cake-time?” said Abby. “May we go out on the piazza now?” 

Rosa looked down over the tray at the cherry stains. 

“First go and ask Ann to wash your faces,” she said. 

But Abby and Little Peg knew the taste of Old Ann’s soap, so they 
waited outside the kitchen door until Rosa came back. Then she 
brought them two cinnamon cookies and some raspberry shrub in 
an old vanilla bottle, and put them out the side door. 

“Mind you don’t come around to the piazza,” said Rosa, shaking 
her finger at the cherry stains. 

So Abby and Little Peg went out into the dolls’ orchard, and ate 
their cookies and drank their shrub behind the currant bushes, where 
Old Ann could not see them—which was much nicer than having 
their faces washed. 


82 


When the party was over, and Little Peg had gone home, Abby 
suddenly remembered that she had left Lily and Jack and Pip in the 
cherry tree. Of course she could not let her children stay out all night 
—but suppose Old Michael Flanagan were still up there, looking 
through a knot-hole! She wished that she had somebody to go up with 
her, but she could not ask a grown-up, for she knew that all the grown¬ 
ups, even Auntie and Rosa, would smile at such a silly Afraid as 
Michael Flanagan on the other side of the high fence. And then all 
at once she thought of someone who never smiled at Afraids. 

Abby ran quickly down over the lawn and across the road to the 
Willow Pond. And in a few minutes she and Emma were walking 
back arm in arm up the hill through the apple trees. The pounding 
on the fence had stopped, and it was very still in the orchard—just 
the hum of the bees in the late afternoon sunshine, and the far-away 
sound of laughter from the piazza. 


83 


CHAPTER IX 


CROQUET RACES 

When Caleb did the second mowing in August, Abby sat in his 
lap on the mowing machine, and rode around behind Major all over 
the great lawn. At the first mowing in June, when the thickest hay was 











cut, there were always other men to help Caleb. Sometimes Michael 
Flanagan came, carrying a sharp scythe over his shoulder, and then 
Abby ran around to the other side of the house. But the second mow¬ 
ing was different. 

“You and I can be managing this by ourselves, can’t we now?’’ said 
Caleb to Abby when August came. 

“Oh yes,’’ said Abby. And she could hardly wait for Major to be 
harnessed to the mowing machine. 

It was fun to go jouncing and clattering down the avenue on the 
rough iron wheels, and it was fun to ride clickety-clack, back and forth 
across the lawn, watching the teeth of the big scythe as they ran along 
beside the mowing machine, and laid down the grass, clean and sweet 
in the sunshine. And now that she was eight, Caleb let her hold the 
reins, because even Major never tried to run away, with the mowing 
machine behind him. 

“Whoa!’’ cried Abby one day, pulling the reins very hard, so that 
Major stopped with a jolt right in the middle of the lawn, “I see 
something moving in the grass.’’ 

Caleb threw the reins over Major’s back, and put Abby down on 
the ground. Then she peered in among the tall stems. 

“It’s a meadow mouse family again,’’ said Abby. And she crouched 
down and touched the tiny pink babies that wriggled in the grass nest. 

Then Caleb got down from the mowing machine too, and lifted 
the big scythe over to the other side of the nest. For Abby and Caleb 
always left a tuft of high grass standing whenever they found a 
meadow mouse family. 

85 


“I shall shut Queen Bess and Dot and Dash in the cellar after 
supper,” said Abby, “until the meadow mouse babies have grown up 
and gone away.” 

Then she and Caleb climbed back into the mowing machine and 
went off, clickety-clack again, up and down over the great lawn. 

“How soon will the second mowing be done?” said Little Peg 
when she came over to play. 

“Don’t you like to jump on the hay-cocks, and ride on the loads?” 
asked Abby. 

“Oh, yes,” said Little Peg, “but I want—” 

“Yes, I do too,” said Abby, nodding her head, for she knew just 
what Little Peg was going to say. “But we shall have to wait until the 
lawn is all cut.” 

Then one day it was. Clipped and smooth, it rolled and rippled 
away to the dark woods far below. 

“Now we can begin,” said Abby to Little Peg. And they ran as 
fast as they could into the shed. 

Abby chose a croquet mallet and a ball and so did Little Peg. 

“I shall have Marigold to-day,” said Abby, taking the orange one. 

“And I shall have Rose,” said Little Peg, taking the red one. 

They ran back with their mallets and balls to the top of the lawn, 
for the Great Slope was the finest place in the world for croquet races. 
They set the balls down side by side at the very brink of the lawn. 
Then— 

“One—two—three—go!” cried Abby, and swung her mallet. 

86 


Little Peg swung hers too, and away went Marigold and Rose, 
bounding and spinning down the Great Slope among the trees, and 
away went Abby and Little Peg with the mallets after the racers. For 
the ball that came first to the big hollow oak at the edge of the dark 
woods would win the race. Abby could run faster than Little Peg, 
but Little Peg watched her ball every minute, so that she never lost 
it in the grass. And to win a croquet race you must never stop watch¬ 
ing your ball. Sometimes Marigold was ahead and sometimes Rose— 
and then, just as they were almost at the edge of the dark woods, the 
head of Abby’s mallet came off, and while she was putting it on again 
Marigold rolled away into the grass and was lost. 

“Rose beat!” shouted Little Peg at the hollow oak, holding up 
her ball for Abby to see. Then she came and helped to hunt for 
Marigold. 

Abby and Little Peg trudged back and forth over the lawn and 
around the trees, peering into the grass for the orange ball. 

“We can get another one up at the shed,” said Little Peg. 

“But it wouldn’t be Marigold,’’ said Abby soberly. “She’s my 
child.” 

So they went on hunting, and they were so busy looking at the 
ground that they did not see the big black cloud that was coming up 
over the woods, until there was a loud clap of thunder. A moment 
later the first raindrops were splashing down on their heads. 

“What shall we do?” cried Little Peg. 

They both looked up with frightened eyes at the house, far away 

87 


at the top of the Great Slope. There would not be time to run home. 

“Perhaps we could get into the hollow oak/’ suggested Abby. 

So they ran to the big tree at the edge of the dark woods. But the 
hollow in the oak was not even high enough for them to sit up in. 

“We can crawl in on our stomachs,” said Abby, “and then the 
tops of us will be dry. We won’t mind our legs being wet if we don’t 
have to see the lightning.” 

So they wriggled in side by side, and lay very still, with their faces 
in a heap of dry leaves. 

“I don’t like it very well,” said Little Peg. 

“It’s better than out there,” said Abby. 

Then it thundered and it lightened, and it poured down on their 
four black stockings and buttoned boots that were sticking outside. 

“I’m scared,” sobbed Little Peg, “I want to go home.” 

“It—it won’t hurt us,” said Abby. “We—we can hold hands.” 

So they did. And after a while the thunder went away over the 
hills, and the rain stopped, and Abby and Little Peg wriggled out of 
the hollow tree. Then Abby stood up in surprise. She had not been 
half so frightened of the thunder as she usually was, for she had been 
thinking about Little Peg. Oh dear—was she beginning to grow up? 
Quickly she twisted her turquoise ring, and for the first time it seemed 
just a little bit tight! 

“Oh dear!” said Abby again. 

“Here’s Caleb,” shouted Little Peg. 

And there, to be sure, were Caleb and Major and the express 

88 


wagon, rattling along the back avenue that led from the dark woods 
to the barn. 

‘Whoa/’ called Caleb, ‘what’s all this going on!” 

And he pulled Major up short and got down from the express 
wagon. He looked at Abby and Little Peg, standing in the wet grass 
with their croquet mallets, and his eyes twinkled under his big straw 
hat. 

“When did the croquet ground move down to the dark woods?” 
said Caleb. Then he leaned down and picked up something from the 
ground. 

“It’s Marigold!” cried Abby joyfully. For there in Caleb’s hand 
was her runaway ball, very wet, but safe and sound. 

Then Caleb lifted Abby and Little Peg up on the seat of the 
express wagon. As they rattled along the road to Little Peg’s house, 
Abby held Marigold in her lap, and dried her carefully with her 
pocket handkerchief. But although she was very glad indeed to have 
her lost child again, Abby was not thinking very much about Mari¬ 
gold. She was thinking about the turquoise ring that was a little bit 
tight. Perhaps, after all, it was only that her finger was warm, for 
Little Peg’s hand had been hot to hold in the hollow tree. But Auntie 
had said that when you were not afraid of thunder any more it was a 
sign that you were growing up. Abby was thinking so hard about this 
that she almost forgot to say goodnight to Little Peg at the brown 
house. All the way home she sat very still and sober beside Caleb, 
twisting her turquoise ring. 


89 


“Storm’s over,’’ said Caleb cheerfully, smiling down at Abby as 
they came up the avenue. 

And all at once Abby saw shafts of sunshine through the pine 
trees, and a clear bright rainbow over the barn. Then Caleb put his 
hand in his pocket, and when he took it out Abby smiled too, for 
there was one of Brother Henry’s big blue envelopes. This is what 
the letter inside said: 

Dear Abby, 

No, if I were you, I don't think I'd ask Old Ann to make 
room in the ice chest for your present, even if it’s hot weather. 

Je-ru-s lum! If Old. Ann ever found it in her kitchen, you’d 
have a Texas hurricane right at Locust Lawn! I shall try to 
make that clear to James before he starts, and I hope he will 
remember to come to the front door with your present. Some¬ 
times James is very obstinate, but I know you’ll like him, for 
he’s a great friend of mine. Perhaps you’ll put him up for the 
night. 

I’m glad you have an apple tree of your own. Save the 
apples for James’ supper. He likes them. 

Your affectionate 

Brother Henry 

P.S. Be on the look-out for James before long. To make 
sure you’ll recognize him when he comes with your present, 

I’ll draw some more of it. 


o 


o 


90 


Bro. H. 


Abby jumped down from the express wagon and ran up the steps. 
“Mamma!” she shouted, as she opened the front door. “Auntie! 
James is coming with my present! But—but who is JamesV’ 


CHAPTER X 


TURTLES 

Who was James? And when was he coming? 

“How long is ‘before long’?” asked Abby as soon as she and Auntie 
woke up the next morning. 

“Perhaps to-morrow, or next week, or maybe the week after that,” 
replied Auntie. 

“Then I shall ask Rosa to make the spare-room bed for James 
right away,” said Abby, “for Brother Henry said that he must spend 
the night when he comes with my present.” 

So after breakfast Abby brought sheets and pillow-cases and 
the best pillow-shams, and she and Rosa made the bed in the spare- 
room very smooth and beautiful. Then Abby went into the garden 
and picked a bunch of zinnias to put in the vase on the spare-room 
bureau. She hoped that James would come before they faded. 

But a week went by, and all the zinnias wilted, and there was no 
James. Then another week passed and another, and it was September. 
Abby went down the avenue every day, when it was time for the after¬ 
noon train from the city, and sat on the stone wall by the gate posts. 
But no stranger came walking up the road from the station—just 
Brother Charlie. 

“What are you watching the road for every day, Midget?” said 
Brother Charlie one afternoon, pinching her ear. “I’ll have to look 
into this!” 


92 


But Abby would not tell, because Brother Charlie thought that 
James was just one of Brother Henry’s jokes, and had laughed and 
laughed when he saw the best pillow-shams and the vase of zinnias 
in the spare-room. Emma was the only person who knew why Abby 
sat on the stone wall by the gate posts when the afternoon train came 
in. Emma usually sat there too, and Abby talked to her about James. 

“But I shall not give him my apple on my little tree,’’ said Abby 
to Emma. “You know why!’’ 

The day after Brother Charlie said that he would have to “look 
into it’’ Abby did not bring Emma to sit on the wall. Instead, she 
brought the two little turtles who lived in the old tub outside the 
barn door. Abby and Little Peg had made a turtle paradise in the 
tub—islands of moss and a fern and real water to swim in—and every 
day they brought flies and spiders for the turtles to eat. One of the 
turtles was named Miss Muffet because so many big spiders came to 
sit down beside her, and the other one was named Maria. There were 
holes in the edges of their shells for strings to be tied to when they 
were taken out. 

Abby held both the strings, and let the turtles walk along on top 
of the wall, while she listened for the afternoon train. If Brother 
Charlie came along to-day, she should just tell him that she was taking 
Miss Muffet and Maria for an airing. After a while Little Peg came 
down the road from the brown house, and she sat on the wall too and 
held Maria’s string. 

Then they heard the puff-puff-puff of the afternoon train going 

93 


off beyond the meadows, and in a few minutes there was the sound 
of footsteps and laughing voices down the road. But this time it was 
not Brother Charlie—and not James—only Sister Florence coming 
home with a young lady friend from the city. They carried gay sun¬ 
shades, which almost hid their faces, and they held their silk flounces 
carefully up from the dust of the road. 

“Hide—quick!” whispered Abby to Little Peg. “Or Sister Flor¬ 
ence will make us be polite—and besides she squeals at turtles.” 

So Abby and Little Peg jumped quickly down behind the wall 
with Miss Muffet and Maria, and held their breaths while Sister 
Florence and her friend rustled by on the other side. After a minute 
Abby and Little Peg peeked over the wall. The young ladies were just 
going in between the gate posts, and they looked very fine indeed from 
behind, for Sister Florence and her friends always wore the largest 
and most elegant bustles. 

“Does she really squeal?” asked Little Peg. 

“Yes,” said Abby. Then all at once she thought of something. “I 
tell you what!” she said. And she whispered to Little Peg. 

As quietly as they could they climbed over the wall with Miss 
Muffet and Maria. Then they tip-toed up the avenue. Sister Florence 
and her friend were talking and laughing so busily that they never 
once looked around, although there were faint scrunchy sounds 
behind them. It was very hard to walk on the gravel of the avenue, 
even on tip-toe, without any noise at all. After a minute or two Sister 
Florence and the other young lady turned off into the grass, to make 

94 


a short cut across the lawn. Then everything was easy, for footsteps 
did not sound at all. Abby and Little Peg ran quickly forward over 
the grass. 

“ Now!” whispered Abby, very low. 

Then they set the turtles softly on the two big bustles that stuck 
out so elegantly behind, and away went Miss Muffet and Maria on a 
strange ride! They looked so funny jouncing along on the bustles, 
while Sister Florence and her friend went right on laughing and talk¬ 
ing behind their sunshades, as if nothing in the world were the matter, 
that Abby and Little Peg both giggled out loud. 

Sister Florence and her friend stopped talking at once, and lifted 
their sunshades and turned their heads. Then Abby and Little Peg 
hid quickly behind a big pine tree and made themselves as small as 
possible. The young ladies looked all around the lawn in surprise, but 
when they did not see anything unusual, they turned again and walked 
on over the grass toward the house. 

For a minute or two Abby and Little Peg did not dare even to peek 
around the tree, but when they did there were no longer any little 
black turtles to be seen bobbing along behind Sister Florence and her 
friend. Miss Muffet and Maria had fallen off the bustles into the grass. 

“Oh dear,” cried Abby in despair, for she loved Miss Muffet and 
Maria, “suppose they’re lost!’’ 

She and Little Peg began at once to hunt anxiously over the lawn, 
but although they went up and down and round about, and even 
crawled on their hands and knees, so that they could feel among the 


95 



















thick tufts of grass, there was nowhere any sign of Miss Muffet or 
Maria. 

“Caleb says that turtles always go straight for the water in the 
fall,” said Abby after a while. “Perhaps they are on the way to the 
Willow Pond.” 

So she and Little Peg, their eyes still searching the ground, walked 
slowly down over the lawn and across the road to the Willow Pond. 

“They haven’t had time to get here yet,” said Abby, “but we’ll 
know them by their strings.” 

Then she and Little Peg sat down on the bank of the pond and 
watched for Miss Muffet and Maria to come walking along. The water 
rippled gently in the hazy September sunshine, and now and then a 
yellow leaf drifted down, but everything else was very still, and there 
were no little turtle shells moving anywhere in the grass under the 
willows. Abby and Little Peg waited and waited. 

“It must be almost time for them,” said Abby at last. And just as 
she spoke, Little Peg jumped quickly up from the bank and pointed 
into the pond. 

“There she is now!” cried Little Peg, very much excited. “There’s 
Maria in the water!” 

Abby jumped up too and peered out among the ripples. 

“I don’t see any string,” she said. 

Little Peg ran along the bank to where a willow bough spread out 
over the pond. She climbed up on it and crawled along, until she 
could look right down into the water. 

97 


“I think it’s Maria,” called Little Peg, “but . . 

But Little Peg did not get any farther, for just then there was a 
splitting sound. The willow bough broke suddenly in two, and down 
went Little Peg, splashing and scrambling in the muddy water. 

“I can’t stand up,” cried Little Peg. “It’s all slippy-sloppy!” 

Then the water went right into Little Peg’s open mouth, and her 
head almost disappeared under the ripples. When it came up again, 
she had slipped farther away than ever on the muddy bottom. 

Abby, terribly frightened, looked around for something that 
would reach to Little Peg. The broken willow bough was too heavy to 
lift, and there were no other sticks to be seen anywhere on the bank of 
the pond, only—Abby suddenly saw the cubby between the two wil¬ 
lows— Emma. 

In a flash Abby snatched Emma from the cubby and held her over 
the pond toward Little Peg. As soon as Little Peg saw the stick she 
clutched at it—clutched wildly with both hands, so hard that—snap, 
snap, snap went the wood. And Emma fell, splintered and broken, 
into the pond. Then Little Peg caught Abby’s hand, and scrambled 
up the bank, very wet and squealy. 

“Let’s go home,” sobbed Little Peg. “I hate the Willow Pond.” 

But Abby did not say a word, or even look at Little Peg, going 
away by herself, still sobbing, across the grass to the road. She just 
stared at the pond, where the pieces of broken stick were floating far¬ 
ther and farther away upon the water. Then she turned and ran home 
toward Locust Lawn to find Mamma and Auntie. But just at the gate 

98 



r 








posts she stopped, for she remembered that Mamma and Auntie did 
not know about Emma. Suddenly Abby turned and put her face 
against one of the big posts. There was nobody in the world who 
would understand. 

After a few minutes Abby heard heavy footsteps on the road. She 
lifted her head and wiped her eyes, and there was Mrs. Hanson, in a 
black bonnet and shawl, walking home from the village, with a cov¬ 
ered basket on her arm. 

“Bless my soul!” said Mrs. Hanson, stopping and looking at Abby, 
and then far up the road where Little Peg was running away, “Why 
bless my soul!” 

Then she opened her basket as suddenly as she always opened her 
door, and took out a currant bun and gave it to Abby. 

“Don’t you fret any more, now, about whatever it is you’re fret¬ 
ting about,’’ said Mrs. Hanson kindly, and pinching Abby’s cheek 
with her plump finger and thumb, “You’ll be having fun again before 
you know it.’’ And she nodded her head as she went away up the road 
to her yellow cottage. 

How funny ever to have been afraid of her, thought Abby, biting 
the bun, which was very good indeed. 


100 


c 


( c < 


CHAPTER XI 


LOST- ON- THE-B URNING-PRAIRIE 

September slipped away and October came. 

“It’s getting cold,” said Abby to herself, snuggling down under 
the blankets in Auntie’s big bed, “Almost like November. Perhaps 
James will come to-morrow with my present.” 

James did not come the next day or the next, but somebody else 
did —somebody who made the fields and woods more beautiful than 
ever to play in. This was Jack Frost, and one day when the air was 
clear and cool, and Locust Lawn was flaming with reds and yellows, 
Abby thought of a new game. 

“The bushes in the pasture are like fire,” she said to Little Peg, 
“Let’s play lost-on-the-burning-prairie.” 

“What’s that?” said Little Peg. But Abby was already running 
toward the barn. 

They ran out behind it, and there beyond the withered garden, 
where the last of the yellow pumpkins lay mellowing in the sun, they 
saw the pasture red with blueberry bushes. 

“We’ll make believe it’s on fire like a prairie,” cried Abby, “and 
we’re lost in it, and we’re only safe on a rock. Come on, we must jump 
—and if we go too near the red bushes or tumble down, the fire will 
burn us up alive!” 

And away went Abby, leaping from rock to rock, her arms held 
wide. Little Peg’s legs were short, and she could not jump very far, 


101 


but she tried to follow. Once she missed a stone, and fell on her nose 
in the grass, right by a flaming blueberry bush. 

“Quick!” shouted Abby, “The fire is catching you. Jump for those 
rocks in the sweet fern!” 

“Oh, oh!” squealed Little Peg. For she felt as if she were really 
burning up. But she jumped with all her might into the sweet fern. 

i 

“You’re safe!” shouted Abby. And on they went. 

After a while they came running and jumping down a hill to the 
edge of a big bog. Locust Lawn was quite out of sight, and Little Peg 
was entirely out of breath. 

“Let’s sit down,” panted Little Peg. “The burning prairie can’t 
go into such a wet bog as that.” 

It was, indeed, a very wet bog. As far as Abby and Little Peg could 
see there were tussocks of long grass, with black muddy water all 
around them. Suddenly Abby jumped up and stepped out on a 
tussock. 

“Look,” she cried, pointing into the bog. 

Little Peg looked, and there, sitting on a log, were two little 
turtles. 

“They’re Miss Muffet and Maria,” cried Abby. “Let’s go and get 
them.” 

“But it’s very wet out there,” said Little Peg, who had not forgot¬ 
ten the Willow Pond. 

But Abby took Little Peg’s hand, and holding tightly to each other 
and to the tops of the long grasses, they stepped carefully from one 
tussock to another, while the muddy water oozed up around their 


102 


shoes. With every step the tussocks seemed to get wetter and wetter 
and farther and farther apart. 

I hear somebody in the bushes,” said Little Peg, looking over 
her shoulder. 

Abby looked over hers too. 

“Oh!” she gasped. 

For on the edge of the bog stood a man, an old cap over one ear, 
a clay pipe in his mouth and a great stick in his hairy hand. It was 
Michael Flanagan! 

“Begorra!” growled Michael Flanagan. “What are you two doing 
in me bog?” 

“Ca-ca-catching our turtles,” faltered Abby. 

“Well, come out of it quick,” ordered Michael Flanagan. And he 
held his stick out over the bog toward them. 

Abby and Little Peg, too scared to do anything else, took hold of 
the stick, and jumped from tussock to tussock back to the dry land. 
Then they stood in front of Michael Flanagan, wondering what dread¬ 
ful thing he would do next. But Michael Flanagan only made a funny 
little chortle. 

“Turtles is it?” he said. “Sure, I like thim meself. Come around 
to-morror and I’ll maybe find ye one—but mind you young ones keep 
out o’ me bog.” 

Michael Flanagan shook his stick in the air, and was just putting 
it down to walk away, when he turned back. 

“See here,” he said—and when Abby looked up what should she 
see but a twinkle, just like Caleb’s under the fierce dark eyebrows— 

103 


“It’s not turtles you’d be after, I’m thinking, if you’d seen what I saw 
coming in for ye on the afternoon train!’’ 

“To-day?’’ cried Abby. “For me?” 

“Sure as you’re born,’’ said Michael Flanagan, “for Miss Abigail 
Wingate.’’ And he shook his big stick again, right in her face. 

“Come,’’ she cried to Little Peg, “I think it’s my present.’’ 

With Little Peg behind her, Abby ran up the hill through the 
pasture. And if the flaming prairie had been there still, they would 
surely have been burnt up alive, for they did not stop to see whether 
or not they were stepping on rocks. They ran pell-mell around the 
corner of the barn—and stopped short, panting and astonished at what 
they saw. 

For there on the gravel in front of the barn stood the entire Locust 
Lawn family, even Mamma who almost never came up to the barn, 
and Old Ann who always stayed in the kitchen. Too-Too was almost 
barking his head off at Caleb, who held a bridle in his hand, and at the 
other end of the bridle stood a small donkey, his long brown ears 
sticking up very straight, a little red saddle on his back. Brother 
Charlie waved his hand merrily at Abby and Little Peg. 

“James has come!’’ he shouted. 

For a moment Abby was very still. Then she 
ran and stood between Mamma and Auntie, and 
looked and looked at the little brown donkey. It 

was the nicest thing that she had ever seen, but it 
made her feel shy. 

“It’s—it’s my present from Brother Henry,’’ she 
said in a low voice. “But—but where is James?” 

104 



Then everybody laughed, and Abby felt shyer than ever. But 
Caleb picked her up and set her right in the saddle and gave her the 
red bridle to hold. And there on the bridle was a tag, with words writ¬ 
ten on it. Abby read them. 

“Why—James is the donkey!" she said soberly—but her eyes were 
very bright. 

“Sure pop!” said Brother Charlie. “Do you remember the best 
pillow-shams and the vase of flowers for the spare-room?” 

Then Caleb took James’ bridle and led him off, with Abby on his 
back. Click, click went James’ little sharp hoofs across the gravel, and 
tinkle, tinkle went the little silver bell that hung from his collar. 

“We’ll come back by-and-by and let you ride,” called Abby to 
Little Peg, as she jounced away. 

It was so very jouncy that Abby had to grab something quickly, so 
she grabbed the two long furry ears just in front of her. Then the ride 
stopped so suddenly that Abby almost flew over the donkey’s head. 
James stood perfectly still. 

“I guess he doesn’t like to have his reins pulled,” she said. So she 
put her hands around the furry neck instead. 

Then they went on, click, click, tinkle, tinkle down the avenue, 
past the front of Locust Lawn, and up the Little Slope through the 
orchard. After a while Caleb gave Abby the bridle to hold, and she felt 

very happy and proud, riding along quite by herself. 

“Now I can go anywhere I want on my own little donkey, can’t I, 
Caleb?” she said. 

But just at that moment James stopped again. Caleb said “Gid- 

10 5 


dap!” and Abby flopped the bridle, but James only kept on standing 
still. Then Caleb pulled hard from in front, and Abby slid down from 
the saddle and pushed from behind, but it was of no use. James would 
not budge. He just put back his ears and braced his four legs against 
the hillside, and looked very firm and disagreeable. 

“Plain ornery!” said Caleb. 

“But James is not plain, Caleb,” said Abby earnestly, “he’s beauti¬ 
ful. Brother Henry said that sometimes he was obstinate. Perhaps that 
is what he is being now.” 

“Just plain ornery!” repeated Caleb. 

Then all at once Abby remembered something else in Brother 
Henry’s letter. She ran and picked up a little red apple from the grass, 
and held it out in front of James’ face. Then James pricked up his 
ears quite pleasantly and took the apple and walked on again, munch¬ 
ing it, just as if nothing had happened. 

“Now we can go back and get Little Peg,” said Abby, with a sigh 
of relief. 

So they turned around and went down through the orchard. And 
as they went, Abby saw somebody going along on the road below— 
somebody with an old cap over one ear, a clay pipe in his mouth and 
a great stick in his hand. 

“Michael Flanagan, look at me!” she shouted. “I can ride all by 
myself!” 

“Begorra! That ye can!” Michael Flanagan shouted back. And he 
shook his stick in the air in quite a jolly way. 

106 


But Abby was so busy with James that it was not until bedtime, 
when she was tucked in under the blankets, that she remembered that 
she and Michael Flanagan had waved to each other! 

“Why, I’m not a bit afraid of him any more!” she said to Emma, 
“Do you think I can be growing up?” 

Then she twisted her turquoise ring, and this time she could 
hardly pull it off. 

“But Brother Henry said that I must be big enough to ride James, 
so perhaps I had to grow up a little,” she explained soberly. ‘Oh, I 
just love James!” 

Then Abby smiled happily in the dark, and went to sleep. 



107 




CHAPTER XII 


TANKS AND THANKSGIVING 

Every pleasant day Abby rode on James’ back. When Little Peg 
came to play she rode too, but that was not so much fun, because Little 
Peg’s legs were too short for the stirrups, and she kept slipping off. 
This did not hurt Little Peg, for it was not far from the top of James’ 
back to the soft grass, but it was hard to make James stop long enough 
for Little Peg to climb up on him again. When James had once de¬ 
cided that he wanted to walk, he walked right ahead, and when at last 
he did stop, it was sometimes half an hour before he decided to go on 
again. James could certainly be very obstinate. 

But Abby never fell off, and she and James trotted all over Locust 
Lawn, tinkle tinkle, in the cool fall sunshine. One day Auntie made 
saddle-bags out of an old potato sack, and threw them across James’ 
back. Then Abby and James brought home all sorts of nice things 
from their rides—pine cones for the playroom fire, and nuts from the 
big trees at the edge of the dark woods. When it was time to pick the 
orchard, James went patiently back and forth for a whole day between 
the shed and the great piles of red and yellow fruit under the orchard 
trees, carrying apples for Caleb in his saddle-bags. 

"You don’t think he is plain ornery any more, do you, Caleb?” 
said Abby, stroking James’ neck. 

"Not while he can help himself to what he likes,” said Caleb. For 
James was munching again. 

108 


When Caleb had gone away to the barn with his ladders, Abby 
rode up to her own little tree, and picked at last the very special apple 
that was a secret. It was ripe and rosy now, a sweet little apple with 
a good spicy smell. Abby let James sniff it before she put it into the 
saddle-bag, and James wanted it so much that he almost wouldn’t 
budge. But Abby pulled down one of his long ears and whispered 
something into it, and after a minute James decided to walk on. 

“Nobody knows but you and me,’’ said Abby, a$ they went down 
the hill to the shed, “so we must hide it in a dark, dark corner until 
Christmas.’’ 

And that is what they did. 

And then it was November, and Thanksgiving came. Thanksgiv¬ 
ing was fun, for everybody helped to make the dinner big and beauti¬ 
ful. Old Ann cooked the goodies in the kitchen—except the great 
plum pudding, which Mamma made. Auntie and Rosa set the table, 
white and silver, in the dining-room, and Sister Florence and Sister 
Sazie fixed the fruit and the place-cards. But Abby and Brother 
Charlie always cracked the nuts in the shed, and that was the most fun 
of all, because there were big fat raisins too, and whenever you cracked 
ten nuts without smashing one you could eat a raisin. 

“By jiminy!” said Brother Charlie at breakfast on Thanksgiving 
morning, “I forgot to get some butternuts—but anyhow, Midgets 
couldn’t crack them.’’ 

“Yes, I could!’’ said Abby. 

109 


“I’d just like to see you,” laughed Brother Charlie, ‘‘They’re as 
hard as rocks.” 

As soon as breakfast was over and everybody was busy, Abby ran 
up to the barn. She led James out of his stall, and put on the saddle 
and the saddle-bags. Then she rode away quite by herself, down the 
back avenue. She would show Brother Charlie! 

The butternuts were thick on the ground at the edge of the dark 
woods, and Abby soon had a supply in the saddle-bags. The trees on 
the lawn were bare now, except for a few bronze leaves that still flut¬ 
tered on the oaks in the sharp November wind. Abby hoped that 
nobody would look down and see her coming back with the butter¬ 
nuts, for she wanted to have them all cracked as a surprise for Brother 
Charlie when he came to find her. 

They got safely back up the avenue again, and Abby emptied the 
butternuts from the saddle-bags into a box, and took them into the 
shed. She did not have time to take James up to the barn, so she left 
him waiting by the shed steps. James always loved to wait anywhere. 

Then Abby brought the nut-cracker from the pantry and tried to 
break a butternut, but although she squeezed and pressed as hard as 
she could, there was not the faintest crack. Then she tried another 
nut, and another and another, but she could not open a single one. 
They were all as hard as rocks, just as Brother Charlie had said. Per¬ 
haps, thought Abby, she could break them with a hammer, but the 
hammer was up in Brother Charlie’s tool-box, and she could not take 
that without asking Brother Charlie. Then all at once she remem- 


1 10 


bered the big old iron mallet in the attic, that Caleb sometimes used 
when he had to pound the pipes. That would surely crack anything. 
The only trouble was, the mallet was usually in the tank-room. Well, 
perhaps the door would be open, and she could reach in and get it 
quickly without having to look at anything. 

Abby tip-toed softly into the house. There were already delicious 
smells of turkey and of spice, and the sound of something being chop¬ 
ped in a bowl, but she did not stop to peek or sniff, for she could hear 
Brother Charlie’s voice teasing Old Ann in the kitchen. She crept up 
the kitchen stairs, and the little winding stairway that led to the back 
of the third floor. It was very still and empty when she came out into 
the attic hall, and there were no nice smells. Thanksgiving never came 
up here. 

Abby saw at once that the door of the tank-room was open a crack, 
and through it she could see the iron mallet, but alas, it was quite far 
back, almost under one of the tanks. The door at the foot of the little 
stairs that led to the cupola was open too, and the windows up there 
were rattling in a lonesome sort of way. No bright sunshine came 
down the little stairs to-day—just a chill draught, blowing across the 
attic. Abby shivered. Then she looked toward the tank-room again. 
Now that she saw the mallet, she was almost sure that it would crack 
the butternuts. 

Holding her breath, Abby crept up to the tank-room door and 
slipped quickly inside. She could hear the drip-drip all around her, 
but she kept her head turned toward the door, so that she should not 


111 


see the great gray legs of the tanks and the strange floating balls up 
above. When she thought that she was far enough in to reach the 
mallet, she turned her head to see where it was. And just then there 
was a dreadful bang. The door had blown shut! 

“Oh!” cried Abby. And she jumped and grabbed the door-handle. 
But she grabbed so hard that the handle came out in her hand and 
dropped to the floor, where it rolled away under one of the tanks. 

“Oh, oh!” cried Abby louder than ever, and she pushed against 
the door with all her might. But it was of no use, for the door was 
firmly latched, and there was now nothing to open it with. 

There was frosted glass in the upper part of the door, so that it 
was not quite dark. Abby could make out dimly the shapes of the 
great tanks. The ball in the biggest one was right at the edge now, as 
if it were looking over at her, and it began to gurgle. She turned and 
pressed her forehead tightly against the glass of the door. 

“Come!” she called as loudly as she could, “please somebody come 
quick! I’m in the tank-room!’’ 

But she was far away, and the doors at the foot of the stairs must 
be closed, for nobody came. All at once she thought that perhaps she 
could find the door knob and put it in again. So she stooped down 
and began to feel around over the floor. It was while she was doing 
this that she suddenly saw two bright green eyes glaring out at her in 
the darkness, from under one of the tanks. Then Abby lost every bit 
of her courage. She pounded on the door with her fists and screamed 
and screamed—until suddenly she felt something soft rubbing against 
her legs. 


112 


“Oh!” she sobbed, looking down in horror into the green eyes. 

But they were only the eyes of Dot, who had been trying to catch 
a Thanksgiving mouse in the tank-room! 

Then Abby sat down on the floor in a miserable frightened heap, 
and with Dot in her lap she cried and cried. But Dot purred and 
purred very cheerfully, as if he were glad to have company. And after 
a while Abby began not to mind the darkness and the gurgles quite 
so much. She remembered that Caleb had said it was just the good 
cold water that they drank every day. Dot was not a bit afraid of the 
tank-room, and after all, it was just a part of Locust Lawn, and there 
could be nothing at Locust Lawn that really hurt any one. With a 
final sob Abby buried her face in Dot’s fur, and it was very still in 
the tank-room. 

“Somebody has shut the cat up here!” said a sudden loud voice. 

Abby lifted her head, and wondered where she was. Why, she must 
have fallen asleep. For Dot was mewing very loud, with his nose to 
the crack of the door, and Brother Charlie was just opening it from 
the outside. 

“Why, here she is!” shouted Brother Charlie. “Shut up in the 
tank-room!” 

Then there was a scurry of many feet on the stairs, and other 
voices calling: 

“Where?” 

“How?” 

“Then she’s been there all the time!” 

“And James didn’t come home without her!” 


And suddenly Abby found the whole family around her in the 
attic, all, even Papa, looking white and queer, and Mamma on her 
knees smoothing rumpled hair. 

“Whatever were you doing up here, Midget?” said Brother 
Charlie, very sober for once. 

Then Abby remembered about the mallet. 

“Are the nuts all cracked” she asked anxiously, “even the but¬ 
ternuts?” 

“I should say they were!” replied Brother Charlie. “Do you know 
what time it is. Midget? It’s almost half past two and Thanksgiving 
dinner has been ready for an hour!” 

“Oh!” said Abby, and felt suddenly very queer. For she had been 
asleep in the tank-room, safe and sound, ever since nine o’clock. 

Then everybody turned toward the stairs and began to talk and 
laugh in the usual way. But Abby looked back across the attic. A 
gleam of November sunlight shone down the cupola stairs, flooding 
the open tank-room with a sudden cheerful brightness. Why, the 
tanks were nothing but great high wooden barrels to hold water, as 
Caleb had said, and the gurgling balls were just pretty tin balloons! 

“I don’t mind the tank-room a bit!” said Abby, half to herself. 

Then Papa picked her up, and she rode pig-a-back down stairs at 
the head of the Thanksgiving procession. 

“But I’m not grown-up yet, am I, Papa?” she added happily. “Not 
while you can carry me that way!” 













CHAPTER XIII 


WONDERFUL TREE 

Abby and Caleb always went together to the dark woods on the 
day before Christmas, to cut the Christmas tree. 

“How many more days before it will be time?” asked Abby, when 
December came. 

“As many days as you have fingers and toes, and three more be¬ 
sides/’ replied Caleb. 

“Counting thumbs?’’ said Abby anxiously. 

“Yes,’’ said Caleb. 

So every night before she went to bed Abby ran into the kitchen 
and marked off one more day on the big calendar that hung over the 
table. And at last there were twenty three marks. 

“It will be to-morrow,” she said. “Oh, goody!” 

And then when she woke up in the morning there was a wonderful 
surprise. The snow had come again, and Locust Lawn was all pure 
white for Christmas. Every tree and bush sparkled, and on the sun¬ 
dial in Mamma’s rose-garden was a beautiful smooth white mound. 

“It’s just like a birthday cake!” said Abby, when she and Mamma 
looked out of the play-room window. 

“Perhaps it is the Christ Child’s,” said Mamma, smiling. “Christ¬ 
mas Eve is his birthday, you know.” 

“But there are no candles,” said Abby. “It can’t be a real birthday 
cake without candles.” 

116 


“I am afraid that the wind in the rose garden would blow candles 
out,” laughed Mamma. 

Then she and Abby went downstairs together to breakfast, but 
Abby hardly noticed what a merry breakfast it was, because she was 
still thinking about the Christ Child’s candles. 

When she had finished her breakfast, she put on her things and 
ran up to the barn. Caleb was just coming out with the axe, and Major 
was already harnessed to the pung. In a moment, they were jingling 
away down the back avenue to the dark woods, and there in a patch 
of evergreens Caleb cut a fine tree, thick and tall, for the Big Parlor 
was very high, and the Christmas tree must always touch the ceiling. 
As he swung his axe, Caleb shook the snow all over Abby, and she 
made snow-balls to throw back at him, and they had great fun. The 
air blew sharp and frosty in their faces when they drove back up the 
avenue with the tree. 

“Do you think the wind will go away by night, Caleb?” asked 
Abby anxiously. 

But Caleb shook his head. 

“ ‘North winds are night winds,’ ” he said. 

“Oh dear ” sighed Abby. 

But soon she was smiling again, for Caleb carried the tree into 
the house and set it up, fragrant and beautiful, in the Big Parlor. And 
then the jolliest time of the whole year began. Everybody came bring¬ 
ing things to hang on the tree. There were strings of pop-corn and 
cranberries that Abby and Auntie had made, and gilded walnuts and 

“7 


chains of colored paper and rosy apples and ever so many of Old Ann’s 
little gingerbread men with currant eyes. Abby tied a carrot on the 
tree for James, and there were funny little bags of dried catnip for 
the cats and a bone for Too-Too. 

Last of all, Brother Charlie put a great silver star at the top of 
the tree, and a candle in a little tin holder on the tip of every branch. 

“Now,” said Mamma, “nobody must look at our tree again until 
it is dark, and the cousins have come.” 

So they all went out of the Big Parlor and Mamma closed the 
folding doors, and left the Wonderful Tree to wait, quite alone, for 
the coming of the cousins and Christmas Eve. 

Abby thought that it was a very long wait indeed. Everybody was 
busy doing secret things behind closed doors. There was whispering 
and the rustle of paper and the opening and shutting of bureau 
drawers, so that the house seemed very mysterious. After a while Abby 
thought of something mysterious to do, too, and she ran out to the 
shed and brought something upstairs and hid it under a chair by 
Mamma’s door. When she came down she tried to peek through the 
folding doors of the Big Parlor, but all she could see were the legs of 
the piano. Then she ran out on the front steps to see if the wind was 
going away—and it was! Caleb had been wrong for once. So Abby put 
on her coat and her hood and her rubber boots, and made a little path 
with her snow shovel, all the way from the side door to the rose garden. 
It was very cold and beautiful, and not one of the snowy bushes moved 
in the still air. 

When at last it began to be dark, everybody went to get ready for 

118 


the cousins. Abby put on her cashmere dress with a maroon sash and 
her red buttoned boots with tassels. Then she went into the hall and 
waited outside Mamma’s door. After a few minutes it opened, and 
Mamma came out in her best silk flounces. 

“The wind has all gone away!” said Abby. Then she pulled 
Mamma down and whispered in her ear. 

“Of course we will!” smiled Mamma, ‘But we must hurry, 
because it is almost time for the cousins.” 

So Mamma brought two capes from the closet, and put the little 
one around Abby and the big one around herself. Then they went 
quickly together down the back stairs to the pantry. When Mamma 
had found what they wanted, she and Abby slipped through the side 
door and along the little path that Abby had dug with her shovel. It 
was almost dark now. There were blue-black shadows on the snow, 
and the stars were beginning to gleam, bright and frosty, above the 
trees. 

At the end of the path, Mamma took seven tall candles from under 
her cape, and Abby set six of them around the edge of the white 
mound on the sun dial. She buried the ends deep in the snow until 
the candles stood straight and firm, and she set the tallest of all in the 
middle of the cake. Then Mamma lighted them, one by one. At first 
they flickered, as if they were going out, and Abby held her breath. 
But then the little flames rose, bright and steady, into the still air, and 
the rose garden was suddenly filled with a fairy glow. Abby and 
Mamma stood hand in hand beside the birthday cake. 

“Will the Christ Child really come to-night to see it?” asked Abby. 

J1 9 


“Perhaps,” said Mamma. “He comes at happy times.” 

“And shall we see him?” said Abby. 

Mamma shook her head. 

“No,” she said, “but we know—always—when he is here.” 

Suddenly there was the sound of many sleigh bells down the 
avenue. 

“The cousins!” cried Mamma. 

She and Abby ran as fast as they could back along the dark little 
path to the house. Soon they were in the hall, in the midst of light 
and laughter, and everybody was saying “Merry Christmas!” and 
helping the cousins to take off their things. And then at last Papa 
and Mamma pulled open the doors of the Big Parlor, and every¬ 
body went in to see the Wonderful Tree. There it stood, gleaming 
with lights from the floor to the ceiling, and filling the whole room 
with a good Christmas smell of pop-corn and gingerbread. While 
everybody was looking at it, Sister Florence sat down at the piano 
and they sang their Christmas song. 


120 










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There’s a Wonderful Tree, a Wonderful Tree, 

That all the children rejoice to see, 

Spreading its branches far and wide, 

’Tis always blooming at Christmastide. 

Oh the— Wonderful Tree, 

Oh the— Wonderful Tree, 

’Tis always, ’tis always 
Blooming at Christmastide! 

When they had finished singing Abby and Auntie stood up in 
front of the Christmas tree together and recited: 

’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house— 

Abby knew every one of the verses, and this year she was not a 
bit afraid, but she kept skipping lines, because she knew that as 
soon as they came to the end a very exciting thing was going to 
happen. And sure enough, just as they said: 

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight!— 

Mamma went out into the hall. 

“Hush!” she said, standing by the folding doors, with her finger 
on her lips. 

For a moment there was not a sound, while all the family and 


122 


all the cousins waited, very still, around the Christmas tree. Then 
far away they heard the sound of bells, coming nearer and nearer, 
then a rapping on a window-pane upstairs, and a jolly voice shouting: 

“Merry Christmas!” 

“‘Merry Christmas, Santa Claus!” called Mamma. ‘“Abby is com¬ 
ing to let you in!” 

Holding her breath, Abby walked across the Big Parlor and 
out into the hall. She and Auntie had always gone up together on 
Christmas Eve to open the window for Santa Claus, but to-night she 
was going alone, because she was almost nine. She felt a delicious 
shiver as she ran up the stairs, and through the long dim hall to 
Mamma’s door. She stopped for a moment to pick up something 
under a chair. Then she tip-toed softly into Mamma’s room and 
over to the window. And there in the moonlight on the porch roof 
stood Santa Claus himself, tall and beautiful—as tall as Caleb. She 
could not see his reindeer, but his pack was covered with snow. 
Quickly she unfastened the window. 

‘‘Santa Claus,” said Abby at once, when he had stepped in, ‘‘I 
have something for you.” And she held her hands behind her. 

“And I have a heap for you!” said Santa merrily striking his pack. 

‘‘Oh yes,” said Abby, and caught her breath, for the pack was 
bursting with presents. ‘‘But mine is very special, only—only will 
you please promise something first? Will you promise to come just 
the same every Christmas, even if I have to grow up?” 

“Indeed I will!” said Santa Claus. 


123 


“Even when I’m fifteen, cross your heart?” asked Abby. 

“As long as you want me, cross my heart!” laughed Santa Claus. 


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1 24 






“That will be always,” said Abby. Then she took her hands from 
behind her, and held out a fine red apple. It’s from my own little 
tree,” she said. “It just had one apple, but I saved it for you!” 

Then feeling suddenly shy, she dropped the apple into Santa 
Claus’ pack and ran out into the hall. 

Far away in the rose-garden, she saw through the window the 
glow of the Christ Child’s birthday cake. Had he come to find it 
yet? Did he like presents too? Oh, this was a happy time! 

“Mamma—Papa!” shouted Abby. “Santa Claus is here! And we’re 
coming down to open the pack!” 


125 


CHAPTER XIV 


GOING-ON-NINE 

Abby and Caleb came jingling up the avenue in the pung. Abby’s 
eyes were very bright under her hood, for she held on her lap a big 
box, that they had found waiting at the village. 

“I know it’s a present,” she said, “because to-morrow is my 
birthday!” 

“It’s a big girl you are now,” said Caleb, looking down at her 
from under his thick cap. “Going-on-nine!” 

“But not growing up,” said Abby quickly. 

“Oh no,” said Caleb, who always understood things. 

When they came to the front steps Caleb said “Whoa,” and 
pulled Major’s reins. Then Abby jumped down and ran quickly 
into the house, and upstairs to Auntie’s room. 

“See,” she cried, holding out the box, “is it from Cousin Julia?” 

“I think it must be,” said Auntie when she had looked at it. 

“Then I shall open it now,” said Abby, “for it will be something 
beautiful.” 

“Don’t you want to save it until it is really your birthday to¬ 
morrow?” suggested Auntie. 

“But to-morrow I shall have lots of things, and a party with Little 
Peg and Johnnie and Jane,” begged Abby. “And to-day I haven’t 
anything.” 

“Well,” said Auntie, “bring the scissors.” 

126 


So Abby brought the scissors, and they cut the string and took 
off the wrappings. Then Abby lifted the cover. 

“Oh,” she cried, “Look! Look!” 

Auntie looked—and there in the box lay a dress, a silky blue dress, 
finer than anything Abby had ever had before, with a little blue bag 
to match. Abby opened the bag, and there was another surprise- 
tiny white cards, with her name printed on them. 


MISS ABIGAIL WINGATE 
Crandall, Massachusetts 


“You can go calling now,” said Auntie, “just like a grown-up 
lady.” 

Abby frowned a little and twisted her turquoise ring. And this 
time it would not come off at all. 

“And I declare!” laughed Auntie, holding up the silky little 
skirt, “if there isn’t a tiny bustle in the back!” 

“Oh dear!” said Abby, frowning more than ever. 

“Well,” said Auntie, folding the dress into the box again, “per¬ 
haps we would better send it back to Cousin Julia. I am sure that 
she will be glad to exchange it for a doll.” 

“Oh no!” cried Abby, flinging her arms about the box again, 
“I love my dress—and—and it’s only a teeny-weeny bustle!” 

127 


Perhaps growing up just a little more would not be so very bad. 
Going-on-nine had been even more fun than going-on-eight. Going- 
on-ten might be even more exciting. But just now, nine years old 
was exactly right. 


THE END 














































































































































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